


This Side Of New Orleans

by Romanse



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Criminal case, Drug Use, Episode: s01e18 Somebody's Watching, Episode: s02e12 Profiler Profiled, Episode: s02e15 Revelations, Episode: s02e18 Jones, Episode: s03e16 Elephant's Memory, First Time, HIV/AIDS, M/M, Masturbation, Really Slow Writing, Romance, WIP, criminal minds - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-01-07 00:00:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 34
Words: 154,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1113082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romanse/pseuds/Romanse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the New Orleans serial killer case concluded, Reid thinks that he’s laid to rest his demons of drug addiction and self-doubt and that he can now get on with his life as a member of the elite BAU.  It would have been better for Reid had he never gone to New Orleans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was started around 2007 and has been periodically updated ever since. It has one final installment to go before completion that I am currently working on in the heels of having finished a substantial update. I will be posting subsequent chapters over the next few days. 
> 
> Beta Readers: Various chapters beta'ed by Twilight, Nancy Taylor, or Vanessa S. Quest
> 
> Additional notes: All of the cases mentioned are based on real-life cases.

It was a good place for two people who hadn’t seen each other in years to come together and reconnect. At three in the afternoon, the bar and lounge area of the St. James Hotel in downtown New Orleans was a fairly quiet spot. There were only a few patrons in the bar and the arrangement of the casual bar and lounge. area, combined with the dark wood and décor, gave it the illusion of privacy and intimacy. 

A person seeking the solitude of their own company and a drink could hear themselves think in that bar, or couples wishing to exchange secrets could do so and be heard. At that hour, the place typified the calm before the Happy Hour storm. 

It was there that jazz musician and former FBI agent trainee, Ethan Stewart found himself talking opposite his old friend, Special Agent Dr. Spencer Reid, whom he hadn’t seen in years. When Spencer had called him earlier that day to say he was in New Orleans and to ask if they could get together, he’d been pleasantly surprised. 

Their relationship from those years ago could best be characterized as a friendship wrapped firmly around a robust, competitive rivalry. If Ethan was smart, Spencer was smarter. Where Ethan was young, Spencer had been younger - the youngest man to ever graduate from the FBI Academy. Ethan was handsome and he knew it, but it had meant nothing when compared to Spencer’s unique beauty, for Spencer in his innocence was ignorant of the knowledge of the looks he possessed. Sure, Ethan had had his pick of any of the smart, handsome gay fellow agent trainees, and even an instructor or two, but the hurried blowjobs and rough dirty sex in dark cramped places with the various partners of the moment always seemed to leave him unsatisfied.

It never helped that his partners, sooner rather than later, got around to asking about Spencer. It hurt, but he could hardly blame them for it wasn’t their mouths and cocks he imagined doing things to. Even in the midst of the heated couplings, it was his friend, Spencer, who was the object of his fantasies. And when he was alone in his room seeking solitary relief, in his mind, the stickiness that he licked from his hands afterwards came from the one who had already awkwardly, but firmly rejected his advances. 

But that was then and this is now. Ethan, having received the call out of the blue from Spencer, was curious to see how the other had fared in the world. He’d found Reid, or rather Reid had found him in an old, familiar game of one-upmanship on the streets of the Big Easy. He had been walking along and suddenly, Spencer was standing in front of him - clearly happy to see him, grinning at how he’d managed to get the drop on him. 

The longish brunette hair that curled at the ends was swept back over Reid’s ears, and the long bangs that flopped to the side stopped right above his expressive, large hazel eyes. The sensuous mouth with its full lower lip had parted to show even, white teeth. Reid was gorgeous and Ethan’s breath caught in his throat. Some things never changed. Other things did. The moment Ethan saw Spencer he knew something was wrong. 

In New Orleans, one learned to recognize the signs of decay that often lay underneath a veneer of wholeness. To Ethan’s sharp senses, Spencer looked used up, drained of energy both emotionally and physically despite the lighthearted greeting and the grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He wondered if he was sick or using. It was one or the other. 

Ethan had grinned back at his young friend with the wan face and made no immediate comment - this was Spencer’s show and he’d tell when he was ready - or until Ethan coaxed it out of him.

They’d ordered drinks at the bar and Reid graciously allowed Ethan to pay for his as any good man thrust unexpectedly into the role of host would insist upon doing. Drinks in hand, the two took seats across from each other. 

Ethan waited for the FBI agent to say what was on his mind, the reason for the impromptu visit, but nothing but casual small talk ensued. So that’s how it was gonna be, he thought. Eventually, Reid asked his burning question, the one he’d apparently flown all the way from Virginia to ask him. Ethan in turn gave him his most honest answer. Yeah, he did know why he’d dropped out of the FBI Academy those few years ago. It was a no brainer - booze and chasing maniacal serial killers did not a good mix make. 

Question asked and answered. Now it was Ethan’s turn to ask a question of Reid as his eyes drank in the sight of the other man. 

“What are you trying to say?” Reid asked, his eyes darkening and glancing off to the left.

“You look like hell.”

Ethan watched from beneath hooded eyes as the man across from him emotionally retreated. The youthful face assumed a closed, wary expression, and the tall, lithe body physically retreated farther into the comfortable chair in which he sat. The thin arms folded into a defensive posture around the tense body. “I’m fine,” was the terse response given. 

Short, to the point, and complete bullshit. That was an answer so steeped in denial that for a moment, Ethan was taken aback by the sheer absurdity of it. 

“C’mon man, I’m a jazz musician in New Orleans, I know what it looks like when someone’s not well. This might be the one time I can tell you something you don’t already know.” As far as Ethan was concerned, that would have been a first. “It might help you forget, but it won’t make it go away. And if I can tell...” he paused and decided to change tactic when he saw that his words were failing dismally to penetrate Reid’s shell. “You’re surrounded by some of the best minds in the world, and if you think they don’t notice...,” Ethan held out his hand, making it tremble to mimic that of a junkie suffering from withdrawal for illustrative effect, “well, for a genius, that’s just dumb.”

Reid closed his eyes, the long lashes coming down to rest like butterflies against the too pale skin. 

After all those years without seeing his friend, Ethan could still feel himself reacting to Reid’s presence. He’d always been attracted to the slender man, his fragile beauty hid a steel strength of will and an intellect that Ethan both burned to possess and yet, respected too much to be jealous. He found himself wanting desperately to help, to hold, to do things to that slender body before him.

Right now, Ethan settled for trying to read his friend accurately. Spencer sat perfectly still. It looked to Ethan like the man was mentally calculating how much effort it would require to tell the truth or stick to his obvious lie that he was fine. 

Then Reid opened his eyes and Ethan looked into hazel orbs clouded with confusion and unspoken wounds. “I’m glad for you, Ethan. It took courage to recognize that the path you were on was not the right one and to change it.” 

Ethan didn’t let his face show his disappointment at Reid’s attempt to divert the topic. Instead, he merely took a sip of his cognac and swilled it around in his mouth before swallowing it. “I didn’t say Jack Daniels and I are permanently estranged.” 

The corners of Reid’s mouth lifted briefly in a smile that was more like a nervous involuntary response. Ethan’s heart beat faster and he felt a stirring in his groin that served to remind him of exactly how long it had been since he’d had sex. Reid, oblivious to the effect he was having on the other man, was no longer looking at Ethan, but rather off to the side, looking lost in thought.

Ethan made his move. “Look, why don’t we get out of here. In a little while the happy hour crowd will be descending here like vultures around the road kill buffet. My place isn’t far. We can go there and relax, and you don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.” 

The invitation hung in the air for an awkward moment. Ethan wasn’t even sure Reid had heard him. Then the slender man’s hazel eyes met his and Ethan knew Reid would not refuse him. 

 

********

Agent Derek Morgan sat in the seat across from Agent Prentiss as the BAU jet carried them across the skies. To Morgan’s knowing eyes, it looked like Prentiss was brooding, as was her nature, when things she was responsible for didn’t come together as planned. The young woman looked troubled due, no doubt, to the fact that all her attempts to reach Reid and tell him about their assignment and flight plans had failed dismally. 

The three of them should have been on that jet, off on a mission to conduct an investigation surrounding a murder that looked suspiciously similar to the ones they were currently investigating in New Orleans. Instead, it was just himself and Prentiss. God only knew why Reid was MIA. Morgan felt a pang of empathy for Prentiss as she sighed and looked away. Whatever was going on with Reid, she’d been told that it wasn’t her problem to solve and apparently, it wasn’t his either. The young woman began tapping her foot as if trying to expend some pent up energy. 

Agent Morgan, unlike Prentiss, had all the appearances of being calm, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. His head was tilted back and his eyes were closed as if in a relaxed sleep. That was an illusion. He had a job to do and he’d do it, no question about that, but still, at this very moment he couldn’t think about anything other than his concerns over his missing...what? Colleague? Friend? Unwitting object of his desire? He just didn’t know.

Morgan was wrestling with his feelings of both guilt and uncertainty, and not just over the mystery of Reid’s current whereabouts, but the mystery of how he felt about Reid period. Morgan sometimes wondered if his colleagues really knew him at all. What would they say if they knew that the face he projected of a man firmly in the heterosexual camp, secretly wondered what it would be like to hold Reid in his arms, touch him and be touched? 

He didn’t understand himself. Why would he be attracted to another man after having suffered for so long with his secret shame of having been continuously molested by his beloved coach when he was a boy? The entire experience and the very thought of sexual involvement with a male had always filled him with feelings of fear and anger. 

He’d gone out of his way to distance himself from his confusion and painful memories, seeking acceptance and affirmation that he was a “real” man the only way he knew how. The number of beauties who sought after Morgan made his male colleagues green with envy. Women loved him. The flawless chocolate skin, the beautiful, warm eyes and brilliant smile were irresistible to women and they went to his bed willingly. 

For his part, Morgan loved the false camaraderie and even the sense of envy thrown his way by other straight players when they saw the scores of beautiful women who tended to gravitate towards him like bees to honey. 

Over the years, he’d proven his masculinity to himself and, in the process, deeply buried who and what he truly was deep inside. That is, until a young genius named Spencer Reid had joined the BAU. 

Morgan had at first, thought the young man too odd, so far from anyone he could relate to in his life experiences to ever be counted as more than a brilliant, but socially backward colleague. But time passing ever so slowly played a cruel trick on the suave, handsome Morgan. 

Spencer possessed an astounding, analytical mind and was brilliant at his job. Morgan knew and respected that. He also knew that as frail looking as Spencer appeared, he possessed more than his fair share of courage. But for all of his geeky smarts and the accolades he’d garnered for his contributions in successfully solving difficult cases at the BAU, there was an innocence and an emotional vulnerability in Spencer that had aroused in Morgan a deep need to protect and cherish the younger man. For the longest time, Morgan had simply not acknowledged that need. It was enough for Morgan to have Spencer’s respect and friendship and all the female companionship he could ask for.

Months ago, however, his every pretense at being a “normal” male had been brutally stripped away, leaving him feeling emotionally naked and violated back when his superiors, Agents Gideon and Hotchner, had uncovered the truth about his past. His world had been rocked to its foundation knowing that the senior agents now knew that his coach had sexually abused him repeatedly for years.

In the wake of the revelation Morgan had been forced into deep introspection.. He felt things he didn’t want to feel. He questioned everything, including the futility of pretending to be what he wasn’t. Ever since that horrible revelation, Morgan had ceased any overt attempts at pursuing female sexual companionship as had been his habit ever since his days as a college student. 

He didn’t like it. 

When the feelings of a big brother protecting his little brother began to subtly transform into something else, Morgan never saw it coming. Spencer had been just Spencer, all intellect and slight body. How in the hell then did he become the moon and the sun? Like them, he was beautiful, alternating warmth and cool, primal mystery. His luminous hazel eyes were the stars, shining bright with intelligence. Spencer had a shy, winning smile that had the power to move something in his heart as easily as the winds of a blowing storm. Morgan began noticing the sensuous lips that hid the pink, bubblegum tongue, and the longish hair that looked to be ever so soft to touch. Never a touchy - feely kind of guy, Morgan found himself without conscious thought, frequently touching Spencer, looking for chances to speak to him one on one. 

He could no longer deny to himself that he had feelings for his male colleague that translated to into sexual attraction, emotional warmth and deep caring. He had no idea where all those changed feelings were leading him. He didn’t want to be in love with a man, and he had no idea if Spencer ever thought of him that way, but he did know that Reid trusted him, confided in him, or so he thought. 

Now he wasn’t so sure. Morgan had gone out of his way to offer him his strength and understanding after the terrible ordeal that had seen Reid kidnapped, drugged and tortured. After his rescue, Spencer had withdrawn from everyone. The few times when Morgan had tried to talk to him, Spencer had seem to listen, not rejecting his advice. On the other hand, he never expressed agreement either. 

The last time Morgan had tried to reach out to the obviously hurting agent, the hazel eyes set in the pale face remained closed, as if hiding a secret that was eating him alive. Morgan wondered if he had failed Reid somehow.  
Could Reid’s absence be explained by something as innocent as him having no cell phone signal at the time Prentiss had tried contacting him, or had he been far more troubled and hurting than he’d let on and had deliberately missed the flight because of it? If the latter, than Morgan concluded that he bore some responsibility for that. After all, how could he expect Reid to be honest with him, if all this time he’d not been willing to be honest with Reid about the feelings he was having towards him?

The questions went round and round Morgan’s mind and still there were no answers. Fed up with the futility of it all, the agent repositioned himself in his seat and vowed to tell Reid at the soonest opportunity possible about his changing feelings towards him.

 

*********

Reid stood in the middle of the living room of Ethan’s apartment looking around with interest. Ethan’s love of booze and music was in evidence everywhere, from the refurbished antique piano cluttered high with sheet music in and around it, to the stacks of old jazz records and modern CDs, to the well-stocked liquor cabinet. There was a conspicuous lack of framed photos of any kind. No beautiful woman or man looking outward in a perpetual adoring gaze. No grey-haired parents looked out imparting wisdom. 

“Here.” Ethan had poured two glasses of bourbon from the decanter and handed one over to Reid.

“Thanks.” Reid accepted the glass, but didn’t take a sip. Instead, he set the glass down on an end table and began to leaf through Ethan’s collection of rare jazz music on vinyl. The long, slim fingers stopped on one rarity in particular and the pale hand drew forth its find. 

“Wow, do you know how rare this is? There are only something like, less than ten still in existence.”

Ethan grinned at Reid’s interest in the topic. For a moment, the dark shadows weighing down his friend’s spirit seem to lift and he saw the Spencer he remembered. 

“I’d become homeless before I’d sell that record.”

“I’d love to listen to it sometime.”

“Sure, but I guess that depends on how long you plan on staying in town.”

Ethan watched Reid as he took up his drink, sat down on the Italian leather sofa, and appeared to mull over Ethan’s unasked question. “I don’t know, Ethan. This case the BAU is working on... the killer is particularly vicious and efficient.” Reid’s eyes got a far away look in them just before he closed them. A shudder ran through the lean body.

“Do you want to leave?” Ethan forced himself to ask when what he fervently hoped was that younger man would stay and allow him to explore the tantalizing possibilities.

“No.” Reid replied simply, not bothering to open his eyes. 

Ethan walked over to the stereo and almost reverently placed the highly coveted, old jazz record on the turntable. 

The apartment filled with the crackling sounds of the record needle on vinyl and soon the sultry tones of the long-dead legendary singer's voice and the dulcet tones of the instruments combined to weave an enchanting spell throughout Ethan's being as it never failed to do. Jazz and good liquor. It was still the winning combination that got him through the day and into the long nights of smoke-filled oak lounges. 

Ethan tossed back his drink and poured himself another. He noted with pleasure that Reid had also gradually drained his drink. Without thinking, he rose to pour his troubled friend another glass too. “It’s okay. You’re safe here,” he heard himself say in response to Reid’s token protest. Ethan held out the bottle and for a moment, a bizarre picture of himself as Eve, holding out the cursed apple to Adam came to him. After a brief pause in which the hazel eyes went from the proffered bottle to Ethan’s face and back, Reid, with a knowing look that Ethan found somehow disconcerting, accepted the drink. 

You’re such an open book right now, Ethan thought. I can read in your face so many things - despair, anger, self-doubt. You’ve never allowed yourself to be drunk in your life, but tonight you will ‘cause you need a little relief from whatever the hell is turning you inside and out. 

Time passed and side A of the record inevitably came to an end. Time for side B. By the time Ethan got up to flip the record, he was experiencing a most pleasant buzz. The room shifted slightly and his empty glass was there, begging eloquently to be filled. Ethan obliged it, but this time he reached for his old standby - a bottle of Jack Daniels. 

The strong alcohol of Ethan’s third and fourth drink, sent the jazz musician gently down the slippery slope towards inebriation. The room grew warm and Reid’s presence filled his senses, making him heady. So close... the object of his desire was so close with intoxicating sweetness and he ached to touch him. 

Neither man spoke. It would have been an irreverent act to talk over the rare display of such glorious talent. Reid looked lost in the music. Silken locks back from his face, eyes closed, head tilted back, the long neck gracefully exposed, the man was a vision to which Ethan could not take his eyes away. 

Finally, side B of the record came to an end and the crackling sounds of static filled the apartment again. 

Enough with the music. Ethan turned off the record player. Feeling emboldened, he took a deep breath and asked, “What are you running from, Spencer?”

“I’m not.”

“Liar. The BAU doesn’t know you’re here do they?”

The hazel eyes snapped open and Ethan felt like a jolt of lightning had shocked him when he saw the extent of the pain swirling in the depths therein.

Reid dropped his head and refused to look Ethan in the eye. “I was supposed to be on a plane to Texas with two other agents in order to interview a relative of one of the victims,” he softly admitted.

“Why didn’t you get on that plane?”

“Because I don’t know if I can do this anymore and... I needed to see for myself that someone smart and capable like you could walk away from the FBI and make a different life for himself.”

Ethan carefully sat down next to Reid. The younger man looked so lost. He wanted to comfort Reid, and at the same time, every fiber in his being wanted to pull the other man into his arms, explore the slender body and taste the sweetness of the sensuous lips. 

Ethan looked at Reid, not saying anything for a moment. Finally, he gently asked, “Who hurt you? What hurt you?”


	2. Chapter 2

There was another long pause full of painful introspection. 

Reid turned to the side and even as he heard Reid’s reply, Ethan’s gaze locked suddenly at the mouth with the lush lips, the slender, long-fingered hands that pushed back the stubborn locks of hair he himself longed to caress.

“Me. I hurt myself,” Reid murmured, his voice bleeding shame and misery.   
“I let my guard down and I couldn’t defend myself. I couldn’t stop a very sick man from kidnapping me.” 

Reid stopped and took a deep breath as Ethan waited for more.

“This man, Tobias, tortured me and shot me so full of drugs until I felt as insane as I thought he was.” Reid’s lips curved into a mirthless grin. “I used to wonder what death would feel like. I don’t wonder about that anymore because Tobias taught me.”

Ethan’s eyes grew dark and he fixed Reid with a hard stare.

Reid ran his hand nervously through his hair. “I died, Ethan. The drugs Tobias forced on me stopped my heart and respiration. My teammates watched me die from a video feed.” The uttered words that fell from Reid’s lips were so softly spoken that Ethan had to lean forward to catch them.

Reid paused as if gathering his thoughts. “After I was rescued and I came back to work, I heard them all saying over and over how glad they were that I was alive - that I hadn’t died.”

“You didn’t deserve to go through that, Spencer.” 

Reid continued as if Ethan hadn’t spoken. “I couldn’t get why they didn’t seem to understand that I _did_ die. My life was snuffed out just like all those other sad victims whose deaths were forced on them by someone else. The people I work with - my friends,” he clarified, “they all see me breathing, walking, talking, supposedly getting on with my life, but I’m numb inside... like part of me is still in that dark room lying on the floor not breathing. I’m so tired, Ethan.” Reid closed his eyes, confusion and loneliness almost a tangible thing permeating his words.

“Spencer- ”

“I...I just want to feel something besides a craving for _this_.” A long tremor wracked his body and Reid suddenly thrust his hand in his jacket pocket and pulled out two bottles of clear liquid substance. 

The world suddenly came into sharp focus and Ethan got a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. “What the hell is that?” he asked unnecessarily. He knew damn well what it was but part of his mind refused to accept the possibility that drug addiction had touched _his_ Spencer, his partner in his solitary, unobtainable sexual fantasy.

“Dilaudid,” Reid said softly. “Tobias shot me full of it over and over, even when I begged him not to.” 

“Oh shit, Reid. Does the team know?” 

Reid placed his shaking hand back in his pocket. His lowered his head as if in shame by an admission he teetered on the verge of making. “They know what he did to me, but what they don’t know is that I took some bottles of Dilaudid off of Tobias’ dead body.”

Something deep within Ethan quickened when the hurting man produced the bottles of Dilaudid. Whatever it was, he was quick to ruthlessly push it down into the recesses of his soul where his own addictions lay sleeping. He hoped at the same time that Reid hadn’t noticed any change of expression. “That bastard fucked you over good, Spencer.” He couldn't bring himself to add, 'You can beat this.' How could he, when he himself had settled for merely co-existing with, rather than vanquishing his own off and on addictions? 

And right now one hell of an addiction was standing in his living room, hurting, vulnerable in a way that he had never before seen the genius. He'd thought he'd laid that one to rest, given up on the idea that he could possess Reid's body, make love to it five ways to Sunday until the younger man was his, mind, body and soul. 

Reid’s trembling grew more pronounced. It was clear he was in deep emotional distress, wrestling with demons that Ethan had only glimpsed shades of in his lifetime. 

Ethan had no way of knowing about the nightmares that tormented Spencer Reid every night. Nightmares that catapulted him out of his sleep with an agonized cry and near mindless terror. But he could make a good guess. Knowing Spencer, the reticent man would have found it nigh on impossible to confide in anyone, to seek out help and expose yet another vulnerability.

His needed to proceed with caution, but the alcohol combined with Reid’s nearness and the fragile emotional state of his friend emboldened him and drew him closer and closer, like a moth to a flame until he was silently standing close enough to invade Reid’s physical space. 

As Ethan stepped into that tantalizing space, his eyes sought out the pale, face with its sorrowful expression and shadowed, slightly glazed eyes - eyes that were already showing signs of the effects of too much alcohol consumption. Reid’s thin arms were wrapped around himself. _He looks like he’s trying to keep himself from flying apart._

As if on their own accord, the arms that were attached to the rest of Ethan’s body moved. Up they went, reaching out to gently, slowly but insistently pull the hurting man to himself. His hands began to stroke the silky soft strands of Spencer’s hair. Ethan held his breath as he felt the tall, slender body stiffen momentarily. The moment hung in time, poised on the edge of a knife. Then came capitulation. Ethan let out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding when he felt Reid’s body mold itself to his. 

Hazel eyes impossibly wide, faces inches from each other, Reid stared at Ethan. Then he gently laid his head on the Ethan’s chest and let go. 

 

*******

It was a fairly short flight back from Galveston, Texas to New Orleans, Louisiana, but it was late, and for agents Prentiss and Morgan, it had been a long, tiring day due to the late afternoon, sudden tasking to go to Texas to investigate a murder that looked eerily similar to the ones they were investigating in New Orleans.

Morgan stared out the window as the jet took off.

Soon, both agents took advantage of the comfortable flight to catch up on their sleep, but though they both slept, the nap was restful for only one of the agents.

Morgan had slipped into sleep easily enough, but the peaceful oblivion, which the young, handsome agent sought was all too soon disturbed by nebulous images that, for a time, teased him like fleeting wisps until they saw fit to fashion themselves gradually into the likeness of a tall, slender youth with beautiful expressive eyes and sensuous lips. 

Even in his sleep, Morgan’s heart leaped in joy. In his pleasant dream Reid’s eyes looked at him with warm intelligence. Reid’s fine-boned hands reached out to caress his skin. Reid’s lips turned into a bright smile which shone with an innocent quality unique to him. 

Morgan slept on, his body still and in a relaxed posture. But gradually his pleasant dreams changed. Some dark element was injected into the dream, marring the images of the man Morgan had developed feelings for. Morgan’s body shifted restlessly. Reid was no longer smiling and his eyes, once alive and bright, looked dull, anxious and afraid. The hands that reached out for him fell away. Morgan heard Reid gasp and cry out to him for help as unseen forces grabbed him by both arms and dragged him away. 

In his dream, Morgan tried to get to Reid but he too was held in the grip of iron-like invisible bonds. Morgan struggled but to no avail. Reid disappeared and only his cries, that turned into unearthly echoing sounds of anguish, were left behind. 

With a gasp, Morgan’s eyes flew open. For a moment, he looked around, disoriented until he looked up a few rows and saw the sleeping form of Agent Prentiss. He shook his head. _Damn_ , he swore to himself. _Spencer, you better be okay_. 

 

*******

The slender body in Ethan’s arms trembled and the tears that fell from Reid’s eyes flowed down silently and unrestrained, much the way his surrender into Ethan’s arms that encircled him had occurred. 

Ethan’s senses were on fire and he suppressed the urge to moan aloud in Reid’s ear. Hot blood suffused his cock, hardening and lengthening the organ until it pressed achingly through his trousers against Reid’s body. Had he been feeling less of the effects of having imbibed too many strong drinks, too quickly, he would have stood still, half afraid to believe that after all these years, after the repeated rejection of his advances while at the FBI Academy, that Reid would now want what he desperately wanted to give him. 

But the jazz musician was beyond those considerations now. _This is what Spencer needs, not the Dilaudid_ , whispered Ethan’s voice of need and greed ever so sincerely to the part left in him that still murmured words like, _Don’t. He’s vulnerable. You’re both drunk_. 

“That’s it.” Ethan crooned quietly, “Just let it go. Let me help you let it go.”  
His hands moved in a gentle caress up and down Reid’s supple back before moving up to rest on either side of Reid’s head. His thumbs tenderly brushed the wet tracks left behind on Spencer’s face in the aftermath of his loss of emotional control. 

The cautionary words in Ethan’s conscious withered on the vine when somehow, unbelievably the warm mouth with the lush lower lip parted to allow Ethan’s mouth to close upon it in a hungry kiss. His questing tongue found Reid’s and the two dueled, each seeking, tasting, thrusting inside the moist, warm caverns of each other’s mouths. 

The younger man’s mouth tasted of fine bourbon, scotch whiskey, and of Spencer - sweet and succulent. Ethan reveled in it, lost himself in the feel of the pink tongue and full lips.

His own hands trembling with urgent need, Ethan’s hands left Reid’s silken brunette hair and he removed the younger man’s jacket and began the slow, torturous task of unbuttoning Spencer’s shirt. One button at a time the shirt fabric parted, revealing the smooth, creamy skin beneath. When he reached the last button, Ethan paused and looked deeply into the wounded eyes, a look on his face that silently requested permission to proceed. Reid put his hand over Ethan’s, and in a firm motion that brought the other man’s hand closer, gestured his consent. 

Despite Reid’s willingness to stand still and allow Ethan to undress him, Ethan noticed that Reid could not prevent his nervous inhalation of breath followed by his apparent inability to release it. “Breathe, Spencer,” Ethan whispered soothingly while simultaneously gently sliding the fabric of the agent’s shirt down and off the slender shoulders. He unwrapped him like a precious gift until Reid’s upper body was exposed to his hungry stare. 

Ethan breathed in the clean male scent of his soon-to-be lover. His hot hands rubbed down the soft skin of his shoulders and he bent over to lave the rose-tipped nipples on Spencer’s chest with his tongue. With his lips he gently nipped the nipples, first one, then the other. Reid gasped as the sensitive nubs of flesh hardened into points of sexual stimulation. 

Ethan kissed and licked his way down to Reid’s naval, stopping to whirl his tongue in the hollow of his naval. Reid gasped and wrapped his hands gently in Ethan’s hair. Continuing on, Ethan found the belt buckle of the younger man’s pants and unfastened it so that he could loop his hands on either side of the trousers and pull them slowly down. Ethan knelt down and by turns, he lifted each leg by the foot, drawing Reid’s legs through, divesting him of the garment until Reid stood before him, clad only in his shorts.

Reid’s underwear tented from the fleshly sign of his own arousal. Ethan, who still knelt in front of the young man, licked his lips and slowly, oh so slowly, divested Reid of the boxers. 

Reid was naked now - emotionally, as well as physically. Ethan stood up. “Let me see you, Spencer,” he breathed, his voice heavy with passion.   
And the young man did, holding himself still with his arms at his sides while the older man drank in the glorious sight. 

To Ethan’s eyes, Reid was a classic work of art come to life. Here was his David, a man with a beautiful face and a perfect body. Physically, Reid was a study in contradictions. Awkwardness and grace both resided in perfect harmony in the same lithe body. Firm, rosy nipples were set off by creamy, too pale skin. Long limbs like a newborn colt, but eyes that held reflections of worldly evils observed. Fragility contrasted with wiry strength. 

Ethan’s eyes went lower until his gaze found the treasure between Reid’s legs, nestled in a bed of soft, light curls. Reid’s cut cock, was long and hard. The rosy end of it kissed by the dew of pre-cum. The sensitive balls that hung down had a covering of only the finest, light colored fleece. 

Ethan trembled with strong desire, hornier than he could ever remember being. “You’re beautiful, more beautiful than I ever imagined,” he breathed.  
His hand reached down to grasp the straining rod and Reid moaned, the pleasurable heat of the contact causing him to hump into Ethan’s hand. 

Tipsy, a soft giggle escaped Reid’s lips. Then his eyes blazed with passion as he said, “You. I want to see you now.” 

Ethan hastened to obey. There was no slow stripping off of his clothing, rather with all due speed, Ethan ripped his clothes from his body until he too was naked with his own straining cock finally and blessedly free of the restricting clothes. 

Ethan grabbed Reid’s hand and placed it on his throbbing penis. The hot flesh of his erection leaped as the fingers of Reid’s hand closed over it. He felt himself rushing up to the line of orgasm. Too soon. It was too soon to cum. Ethan moaned and pushed Reid’s hand away. 

Then, clutching Reid’s buttocks, he half-lifted, half pushed him backwards into his bedroom until Reid’s legs were pressed against the foot of the bed. Bending him backwards, Ethan kept their bodies close together as he gently guided Reid onto the bed. He covered the younger man’s body with his and rested with his elbows supporting his weight on either side of Reid’s head. 

The kissing resumed, with Reid seeming almost desperate in his actions, his mouth devouring Ethan’s, his hands hotly stroking and feeling up the man on top of him. Ethan groaned with lust, his flesh on fire everywhere Reid’s hands blazed a trail. The curve of his ass, his smooth back, his neck - all ignited by Reid‘s touch. 

Ethan broke his mouth away and down until his lips stopped over the leaking head of Reid’s cock. Then in one swift motion, he engulfed the rod, sucking and pulling it, deep throating it down to the root. Reid cried out in ecstasy and his body bucked and writhed under the intense sexual pleasure. 

Ethan held the bucking body by the hips, giving oral pleasure using every technique he knew and some he didn’t. The hot, wet licking and sucking stoked the flames of passion. Ethan knew the moment Spencer’s balls began to tighten until finally, Reid was thrown headlong into an intense orgasm that had him jerking and shuddering as his cock jetted thick streams of semen into Ethan’s eager mouth. 

Ethan smiled. Head tilted back, mouth open, Reid seemed to pant with relief as the stress and burden of what he carried inside him eased a little through his orgasm. “Baby, you taste so good. So good.” Ethan crooned while gentling the shaking body beneath him with his hands, his voice slightly slurred. 

The fire that had consumed and peaked in Reid mind, body, and soul now began to consume and burn even higher and hotter in the sexually-charged Ethan. He couldn’t take it anymore. He needed relief. He wanted desperately to sink his hardened flesh inside Reid’s tight channel and pound into the fragile-looking body. There could be no turning back for him now. He was barely rational enough to reach for a condom in the nightstand drawer by the bed. 

Frantic with need, he tore the package opened, rolled the condom on with fumbling fingers and prepared to mount Reid. Had he known that the younger man had never before had sexual intercourse, had he any idea of the gift that was being bestowed upon him, he would have gently prepared his lover and been more solicitous of Reid’s needs as he hoisted the long limbs over his shoulders. As it was, he lifted Reid's slim buttocks up and began finger fucking him with a digit barely coated in cream.

He didn’t see Reid’s slight grimace of pain at the rough intrusion. 

When he removed his finger to grab his slicked-up organ, he saw only the puckered hole before him, inviting, needing this. Needing _him_. Ethan’s clouded mind perceived one thing: that if he didn’t get inside Spencer now, it would be too late.

He readied himself and began to push in, unknowingly invading a tight space where no man had ever been before. Driven by sheer lust and alcohol, Ethan, with a mighty thrust, shoved his way inside. 

*******

Ethan’s shout of triumph masked Reid’s short cry of pain. Reid’s body stiffened and arched, but instead of pushing Ethan’s wildly pounding body away, he took it, drawing Ethan's hips closer. Embracing the pain, Reid _needed_ the sensation of being stretched and filled beyond what he thought possible. 

The physical closeness of Ethan’s body, combined with the pain of the rough anal penetration washed through him like a tidal wave, completely obliterating the terrible numbness that had so thoroughly enveloped his soul in a vice-like grip for too long. The absolute, powerful release shocked the young man to the core. 

Reid cried, but the tears that leaked from his eyes didn’t come from Ethan’s hard thrusting, they came from being able to _feel_ so completely again. The joy of his relief was consuming him while simultaneously, the pain from deep inside him morphed into intense physical pleasure as Ethan’s cock rammed his prostate again and again. 

The paralyzing numbness that had kept his heart and soul removed from the rest of him, once melted away, unleashed an animalistic response in the normally shy, reserved man. His guttural moans matched Ethan’s and his hips moved to meet the other man’s in a savage rhythm as old as time. 

Reid felt the rise of his approaching orgasm. He’d already reached the heights and flown high once today - he knew he’d fly again soon. 

He was not wrong.


	3. Chapter 3

Sweat pooling between their bodies, their mouths locked together in a deep kiss, Ethan, mindless in his lust, pumped into the body below him until he catapulted to the top of the summit, bringing Spencer with him. 

Ethan, completely drained and sated, pulled out of Spencer’s warm channel and collapsed on top of him, panting and gasping for breath, clinging to Spencer’s sweat-slicked body like a life raft. The world spun crazily and all he could do was hold on and wait for it to stop. He’d never known such ecstasy in his life. He couldn’t move, much less think. 

“Thank you,” Spencer said softly as he used his hand to stroke Ethan’s body with its thundering heartbeat. 

“Shhh...it’s okay, baby...just sleep now,” Ethan mumbled, half-asleep.

Reid’s gentle stroking of Ethan’s heated flesh was steady until gradually, it became erratic before ceasing altogether. His eyes closed and he fell headlong into a deep sleep that was truly a dreamless slumber brought on by too much alcohol, too fast, exhaustion, and the release of acute, emotional stress.

The younger man was completely out, and his face was relaxed in repose as a carefree, innocent expression stole across his features. Likewise, Ethan was fighting a losing battle against the combined alcohol consumption and his post-orgasm lethargy. He roused himself to scrape together the last of his strength and in his alcohol induced haze, managed to pull the used condom off, roll over in bed, and toss the condom into the trash can beside the bed. 

He never noticed the blood on it before he too spiraled down into the arms of Morpheus. 

 

*******

The sun went down making way for the moon, streetlights, and tainted saints of New Orleans to come out. Come out they did, but this time, Ethan was not among them. 

Normally, the jazz musician would be just starting his day shortly before dusk. It depended on how late he’d worked the night before and how much he’d had to drink when he’d got home - or whose bed he woke up in. 

When it came to sexual encounters, Ethan opted to go to a hotel room, or even the home of the newest partner he’d met over the course of his evening performances. Until Spencer, he’d never brought men into his home to have sex. It was better that way. One didn’t have to hide or explain anything about things one would rather not. His apartment was his sanctuary where Ethan paid the rent and sometimes the demons of addiction in his soul got a free ride. 

One of those demons was stirring within him now. It sneaked out to brush against his subconscious mind. It called to him with a siren’s song to come out and play. Still asleep, Ethan turned away from the warm, sleeping body of Spencer Reid. 

Ethan began to dream. 

_He was making love to Spencer again. The thing he’d hoped for and never believed he’d ever have had come to pass. Even in his dream-state, he was very much aware that the previously unattainable Spencer Reid was actually in his bed and that he’d had mind-blowing sex with him._

_Then the demon inserted itself into Ethan’s dream. The time wasn’t now, it was three years ago when he’d done something that had come very close to destroying his life. In his dream, the lover lying naked next to him wasn’t Spencer, it was the long-dead ex-lover, Henri. Ethan had a few things in common with Henri, except Henri didn’t like booze, he liked heroin - and Ethan liked Henri._

Ethan’s body twitched and he turned. But he couldn’t escape the demon’s caress. 

_He couldn’t remember how it started, he only knew that with one hit, he’d become addicted. The heroin in his veins took him to another place the Jack Daniels couldn‘t touch... Soon enough he needed it and nothing else. Not even Henri. Three months later Henri was dead, his lover having died from an accidental overdose. After that Ethan checked himself into the nearest rehab and put that particular demon to sleep._

But the demon was awake now and would not be denied. It drew Ethan up from the depths of his sleep with its insistent urgings.

In his dream, Ethan saw Reid. _The young man was shooting up, filling his veins with a substance that would eventually reduce him to nothing more than skin and bones - a walking flesh that lived only for its next fix. And even as he stared horrified, he felt the desire for that very thing luring him with its sick appeal._

_Despair moved in and took root in Ethan’s heart. The futility of it all stamping out any ideas he might have of running away with Reid. For Ethan couldn’t run fast or far enough to get away from the nightmare...but he could take the bottles of Dilaudid away from Spencer._

_Somewhere within himself he heard mocking laughter._

With a choked cry, Ethan’s eyes popped open and he sat up in bed, panting harshly. His mind was still muddled from sleep and booze but with effort, he managed to untangle himself from Reid’s long arms and legs, rising from the bed unsteadily. 

Reid continued to sleep like the dead. His kiss-swollen lips were parted slightly, his tousled silky hair lay splayed out on the pillow. 

As if on auto-pilot, Ethan’s legs propelled him toward the pile of Spencer’s discarded clothes. The musician dropped to the floor and began fumbling around until he found Reid’s jacket, turning it inside out, looking for the inner pocket. _I’m gonna get rid of it... for you, Spencer._ His mind believed the lie he’d told himself as his questing fingers found the syringe and bottles of Dilaudid, closing around them possessively.

The hunger of his addiction had slept too long and his good intentions had been forged in hell. The tormented man swore aloud under his breath as mentally, the old needy sensation swept through him. The strength of memory was overwhelming. Ethan was breathing hard.

_‘You know what this is,’ a sickly sweet voice whispered._

“No, no, no,” Ethan moaned in vain denial. “It’s over,” he muttered. 

_‘Nothing’s really over.’_

"You can't do this to me! Oh God, I won't do it!" Ethan was terrified. Spencer had come to _him_ for help. If the younger man were to wake up and discover just how fucked up his friend really was, they'd be over before they'd barely gotten started.

_'You loved me with Henri.’_ The sly voice added, _'You loved me more than Henri.’_

“Shut up!” Bitter memories assailed Ethan. The relief, the delivery of the promised bliss - it could be his again.

_'It's what you want.’_

"Leave me alone!" Ethan's hands trembled and he fought to still them as he staggered up and, naked, made his way into the tiny bathroom. Sweating, shaking, determinedly, he seized one bottle and twisted off its cap. Then in one swift action he dumped the forbidden contents into the toilet. 

Ethan sobbed out his relief. One half of the drug was gone. He’d destroyed one beast and yet would he slay the other. Then he snatched up the second bottle and as he did so, he glanced into the mirror and froze, mesmerized by the glimpse of his reflection.

In that moment he saw the lie it told as his reality. He couldn’t beat it. The craving he had for the heroin would always be with him. All this time it had been biding its time, stalking him silently. In the fullness of time when it deemed itself ready, it knew it would show itself and he would come to it. Oh yes, he would come to it, for he was weak. 

Ethan averted his eyes, ashamed of what he saw, horrified by what he felt, but it was too late. With a long groan, his mind finally acquiesced, and his fingers followed to do what it demanded. Zombie-like, as though he were far away and looking at himself from that distance, he watched as the man in the mirror took the syringe and filled it with the poison. That man with the stranger's eyes knew just how to find the vein and make it prominent. Some things really were just like riding a bicycle. 

With a firm grip on the syringe, slowly he pushed the needle into his arm and depressed the plunger. Ethan sighed softy as the contents entered his system. 

Then Ethan closed his eyes and slowly, he went over the edge into the abyss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback? You bet!


	4. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you kindly for the Kudos.

*******

Time had no meaning for Ethan, and truth as an absolute existed only in terms to how he felt at that moment. Ethan, high as a kite, was basking in the artificially created sensations of peace and of well-being. Everything was right in his world - even if that world inside his head was curiously shifting and distorting. 

It was as though he was moving in a murky dream. He was in his body, and yet outside of it, watching himself. He was in his bedroom. He didn't have any idea how he came to be standing at the foot of his bed, staring with rapt attention down at the naked man who was sleeping on his side in it. He didn't care. 

He was utterly fascinated by the display of slender hips and long limbs. The head turned as if a prelude to awakening, but the delicate face relaxed in repose remained that way. Ethan's heart lurched and his eyes blinked several times as the facial features the man in the bed shifted before coming into focus "Henri," he breathed. 

His former lover was waiting for him, ready to be fucked senseless - again. Clearly, Henri was sleeping deeply as he always did after he and Ethan had had vigorous sex. _Why don’t I remember ever making love to him in my bed?_ The thought briefly touched down but immediately took flight again in Ethan‘s mind. His clouded mind never registered the fact that he’d not been in the same bed with Henri for a very long time.

The sight of the swell and curve of the small ass had an immediate arousing effect on the jazz musician. His mouth under his dilated eyes crooked itself into a grin as a wave of lustful desire swept through him, hardening him and alighting his nerve endings on fire. 

Ethan stretched out his hand to touch the sleeping man, but it felt like he was reaching through a long tunnel. At last his hand touched the soft skin of the bare ass, and he caressed it hungrily. 

“Henri” didn’t stir. 

A darker mood took hold of Ethan. 

“It’s a lie,” Ethan guilty conscience drove the falsehood out, “I didn’t love the heroin more than you, Henri. Let me show you, let me make this right.” Ethan crooned, totally unaware of the desperate tone that leached from his voice, slurring his words.

Then he lay down close behind the oblivious Reid, one arm reached around to caress and tweak sensitive nipples, and then went lower still to grasp the lax penis in his hot hand. Ethan rubbed the organ vigorously as he brushed warm lips against the smooth nape of the sleeping man’s neck. 

Having received no response as his reward, he left off with the insistent rubbing and instead, coated his fingers with saliva before inserting first one finger, then two, followed by three into the tight rectum. 

Ethan groaned aloud from the memories imprinted on his soul, driving him to action. Memories of the many times he had awaked the sleeping Henri, buried balls-deep in his lover’s body, his own body rocking Henri’s until the man came to consciousness moaning and pumping his hips in time to Ethan’s rhythm. 

As if driven by pure animal instinct, Ethan clutched his straining erection, positioned himself at the secret entrance and pushed in steadily. 

One, two, three hard thrusts and Ethan was shuddering and holding on to the slim hips tightly as his semen flooded into the rectum of the pliant man. 

Afterwards, he lay behind the man’s body, breathing deeply, his head heavy and his body sated. Only later did the thought that Henri hadn’t roused, much less orgasmed tickle his mind with a feather-light touch. But by then, Ethan had once again joined his lover in sleep.

******

One hour later, Ethan cracked one bleary eye open, and then the other. He was disoriented. The room was dark and he stared owlishly at the pink blob of flesh taking up all of his field of vision. For a minute, he didn’t know where he was. He’d failed to recognize the furnishings of his own bedroom, but recognition followed closely behind and he relaxed into the familiarity of his surroundings. 

Ethan rubbed his temple with a shaky hand. His head ached dreadfully and his mouth felt stuffed with cotton. Those sensations he could deal with and had done so many times in the past. It was the growing uneasy, sick feeling that he intuitively sensed had nothing to do with too much alcohol consumption that disturbed him and aroused in him a feeling of unease.

Had he been dreaming? Dreaming of having sex with Henri? Ethan couldn’t make sense of it. Henri was three years rotting in the grave. Whenever he thought of Henri it was usually of the memory of the two of them shooting up and getting high either before or after having sex.. 

Shooting up. Having sex... Tendrils of memory unfurled and Ethan choked back a shocked, strangled sound of disbelief. Disgusting images of himself searching through a pile of clothes, seeking, finding bottles of Dilaudid, and then injecting himself, came to him. And then there were the unexplained images of himself with Henri, entering him, pumping rapidly to completion - only it wasn‘t Henri. The body his mind recalled belonged to a taller, slimmer man. 

Ethan sat up and his gaze chanced in passing to fall upon the brightly illuminated bedside clock. 

There was a delay while his mind processed three facts simultaneously: One, the body he’d been lying spooned behind belonged to the still sleeping form of Special Agent Dr. Spencer Reid; two, he had less than an hour and a half to get to his job behind the piano at the lounge of the Silhouette Club; and three, he’d helped himself to Reid’s Dilaudid and had sex with him while he was asleep. 

Horrified at the revelation at what he‘d done, his heart filled with despair, and he swore softly. How could he have gotten high when all he’d wanted to do was take the drug away from Spencer? How could he have had sex with Spencer when the other man had been unconscious from not just too much alcohol, but from deep emotional and physical exhaustion as well?

What kind of animal did that make him? _Drug abuser, rapist,_ the quiet voice in his mind, ever so helpful, supplied the answer. 

_No!_

Ethan staggered up from the bed and lurched into the bathroom, his stomach roiling ominously.

_He didn’t know what you were doing. You raped him. He came to you for help. What do you think that will do to him when he finds out what you‘ve done?_ His thoughts were like sharp knives of brutal honesty, stabbing at his conscience and driving him towards cowardice. He was nearly overcome with self-loathing. What he’d done to himself in succumbing to the drug was of no consequence in comparison to what he had done to Spencer.

_I need to tell him_ , his tortured mind advised him. _You’ll destroy him_ , a counter thought offered. His mind threw in another thought for good measure. _And you’ll go to jail. What do think will happen to you if you end up there?_

“Oh God, this can’t be happening.” Ethan leaned over the toilet bowl and emptied the contents of his stomach, the vile taste flooding his mouth.  
He remained that way for a moment, panting, with sweat dripping from his brow. 

Finally, he raised himself up and crossed over to the sink on unsteady legs. He turned the water up high and cold and began rinsing out his mouth and washing his face.

He was sick with fear, and that feeling allowed him to reach deep within himself and rediscover the resources of the man who had once wanted to become an FBI agent and use his training and natural cunning to bring down kidnappers and serial murderers. He hated to admit it, but he knew his own strong sense of self-preservation went hand-in-hand with that cunning. 

A true son of New Orleans, Ethan Stewart knew how to shed the vestiges of over-indulgence like a used-up skin and assume an air of sobriety when the need arose. Right now his need was urgent. 

Torn, hating himself for what he was about to do, he avoided looking in the mirror as he took a washcloth, wet it, then carried it over to the sleeping Reid. 

He stood still for a moment, looking down at the beautiful, peaceful face. 

There was regret, yes, plenty of that, but no hesitation on his part for what he was about to do. His mind was made up and he’d just have to sort out his motives later. 

Gently, quietly, but quickly he cleaned Reid with the wet, warm cloth, thus effectively removing all traces of his semen from between Reid’s legs, his anus and surrounding area. The touch of the moistened cloth upon the still sleeping man’s skin seemed to initiate his return to the waking world. 

Reid’s arm and head moved and the kissable lips parted to allow a soft sigh to escape. The closed eyelids began to twitch. Though his face maintained an unreadable expression, Ethan’s heart beat faster with anxiety as he observed the young agent stirring. The former FBI student then hurried to dispose of the incriminating cloth and slip into a pair of clean boxers before returning to Reid’s side. 

Just as he reached the younger man, Ethan saw Reid’s long lashes flutter and eyelids part to reveal the expressive hazel eyes that looked back at him with steady calmness. Even now, poised on the cusp of duplicity and cowardice, the very sight of those eyes open and trusting was enough to twist Ethan’s heart and have him reconsider his plan. 

Almost.

“Spencer, how do you feel?” Ethan asked sincerely.

For a moment, Reid didn’t speak as though considering his answer with care.

“I feel good, Ethan. Well about as good as a person can with a bass drum playing in their head,” he amended with an exaggerated grimace as he gingerly sat up. 

Ethan pretended not to see Reid pull the pooled sheet up around himself as if discovering his nude state had made him uncomfortable. 

“I’ll be right back, Spencer. I’m going to make us a pot of coffee and bring you some aspirin.” 

“What time is it?” Reid asked without looking around.

“It’s late, Spencer, and unfortunately I‘m about to be late for work.’’ The older man turned to leave but before he could do so Reid reached out and grabbed his arm. 

“Ethan...” Reid’s voice, gone suddenly whisper-soft, trailed off shyly.

Ethan couldn’t look into those soft, guileless eyes and Reid stared at him in compassionate concern. Reid accurately discerned Ethan’s feeling of guilt, but in one of the rare moments of his life as a professional in the field of behavioral analysis, he failed to accurately attribute the source of that emotion. 

“You shouldn’t feel guilty about giving me what I asked for. You gave me an incredible gift, Ethan.” 

_Funny, don’t remember you asking me to rape you._

__Something in the air lay heavy between them. Neither man spoke and the moment of revelation nearly passed unfulfilled. Ethan gently pulled his arm away from Reid’s light grasp._ _

__“I need to tell you something, Spencer.” Ethan crossed over to Reid’s pile of clothes on the floor. He picked them up, walked back to the bed and handed them silently to the younger man._ _

__Puzzled, Reid reached out and accepted the proffered clothes. In a split second, Reid detected the changed weight of the jacket - made lighter by the absence of the bottles of Dilaudid. Disbelief, shock, anger warred for position in his face as he realized Ethan had taken the bottles. Finally, the fine features settled on betrayal._ _

__“You had no right,” Reid ground out tightly._ _

__“I did it for you.” The half-truth stuck in Ethan’s craw._ _

__Reid got out of bed, now heedless of his nudity. “What did you do?’ he demanded in a low voice._ _

__“I flushed them down the toilet.”_ _

__Reid, looking highly disturbed, ran his hands through his hair as he began to pace back and forth. “I trusted you.” The accusatory tone cut Ethan to the quick._ _

__“Yes, you did. You sought me out. You asked for my help and that’s what I gave you.” Ethan drew near to the younger man, desperate to salvage what he could of the relationship his actions had damaged. “Listen to me. I’m not stupid enough to think that if you really want your drugs back that you won’t go and get them whatever way you can. I can’t help you with that, but what I can help you with is finding an opportunity to make the choice to walk away.” Ethan’s voice grew harsh, “This is it, Spencer, make up your mind here and now.”_ _

__Reid stopped his pacing and stood completely still. His hazel eyes had darkened into orbs that telegraphed more eloquently than words could his confusion and conflicted state._ _

__Ethan gentled his voice for the benefit of the younger man, “Leave New Orleans. Go back to your friends in the BAU in Virginia and don’t come back here, ever.” Ethan held his breath as the young profiler seemed to consider his words._ _

__After awhile, Reid looked up and what Ethan saw in the other man’s face nearly caused him to sag with relief. Reid’s eyes held acceptance, forgiveness, even relief._ _

__“I would have gotten rid of it. I just didn’t know it would take being with you for my heart to catch up with my head.”_ _

__“Maybe,” the musician shrugged, reluctant to accept any credit for his friend’s improved mental state. Though Reid was clearly hungover, he looked more at peace._ _

__“I think I’m going back to the BAU. I’m going to tell Agent Gideon the truth about why I missed that plane and hope he doesn’t kick me off the team.”_ _

__“Even if you had gotten rid of it, it can still sneak up and ambush you when you aren’t looking.” Ethan’s tone was bitter and he hoped the warning his words contained would not be lost on Reid. The young man was looking at Ethan, as if he was silently cataloguing what he knew must be his wasted appearance with his pale face and reddened eyes that he desperately hoped were not telegraphing his emotional pain and guilt to Spencer._ _

__Ethan took a step back as Spencer’s gaze turned intense right before a sudden look of sorrow crossed the exquisite face._ _

__“Have you been...ambushed, Ethan?” Reid asked softly, his every internal instinct finally kicking in to scream that something was wrong._ _

__\----  
A/N: Please let me know if there is any interest in posting the rest of the story here. Thanks!_ _


	5. Chapter 5

Ethan’s heart raced as he frantically pondered what Reid meant. Had his genius friend correctly surmised that he’d lied about the manner in which the drugs had been disposed and instead, used some while he was asleep? Or somehow did he know uncannily that in his past, he had been addicted to heroin? Was he merely asking had he ever slipped sometime in that distant past before ridding himself of the habit? 

“If I ever have, I’ve always taken care of it,” he replied carefully. 

Caught between knowing and not knowing, there was dignity in denial, but Reid in all things, preferred to know the truth, no matter how painful it was. 

“Can you ever forgive me for coming here, Ethan? I didn’t know...I never meant to hurt you.” Judging by Reid’s body language, the awkward shyness had returned.

“Why don’t you go take a shower while I get the coffee ready.” Ethan’s abrupt tone was harsh and afforded no room for argument. The topic was dangerous and needed to be closed. 

There was a hateful part of him that wanted to contemplate the aspect of Reid’s statement that was factually correct. Had Spencer not shown him the bottles of Dilaudid he would not have been tempted beyond his strength to resist it after all those years of living heroin free. 

_That’s right, Ethan. Blame Spencer for his theft of the drugs, for getting high, and for having sex with him while he was asleep._

Ethan, angry with himself, went to make the coffee with short, jerky movements. By the time the coffee had finished brewing, he had laid out his clothing for work and was waiting for Reid with a steaming cup of coffee in one hand, and a cup of water with aspirin in the other. 

The sound of water running in the shower ceased and moments later, Spencer emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his slender hips and his brown hair lying like a long, wet frame around his face.

“Here.” Ethan held out first the water and aspirin which Reid downed gratefully. Reid handed back the empty cup and Ethan gave him the cup of coffee in exchange. 

“Thank you, Ethan.” There was more in those words than a simple acknowledgement of the kindness, Ethan knew, but there wasn’t time to think about it. He had a job he needed to get to. 

While Reid dressed and sipped on his coffee, Ethan showered. The cool water felt good against his skin. He could feel it washing away the sweat, cleansing his body and rejuvenating it. How he wished he had the means to wash away the grim on his soul as well as the residual poisonous Dilauded from his system. 

Having finished showering and toweling off, Ethan quickly got dressed and ready to leave for work. 

Once again, Reid was standing in the middle of his living room as he had when he‘d first arrived. Just a moment, for Ethan, it was as though none of the previous shit had ever happened - except that Reid’s face was no longer a portrait in abject misery the way it had been when he’d first arrived hours ago. Where Spencer’s eyes once mirrored the pain and confusion his inner being was mired in, his eyes now reflected calmness, clarity of purpose, and resolve. 

Ethan took comfort from the look of that changed countenance before him. _He doesn’t need me anymore._ The thought hit hard and pained him to the core, but still, a small flicker of hope for a continued relationship with Spencer took root in his heart and he hid it away to nurture later.

“Come with me to the Silhouette Club?’

“Sure.” 

As simple as that, Spencer Reid accompanied Ethan Stewart to his nightly gig behind the piano in the bar of one of the French Quarter‘s premiere jazz 

clubs. 

 

*******

So it came to be that one hour later, Senior Supervisory Special Agent Jason Gideon entered into that same jazz club, looked around, and found his wayward agent reclining in one of the fine, Italian leather-covered chairs facing the piano. Unobserved, the older agent stood watching the younger man. Gideon’s keen, experienced eyes took in everything and missed nothing about Reid’s current state of mind through his demeanor and posture. 

Then he looked over at the object of Reid’s apparent concentration - the man behind the piano. Gideon knew his name and much more having tapped into the fathomless skills of Analyst Penelope Garcia. Why the brilliant younger man had sought out an FBI Academy drop-out who he hadn’t seen in years, and one with questionable sobriety at that, he couldn’t be certain. He could, however, formulate a solid theory based on what he knew concerning what Reid had endured at the hands of Tobias, and on what Reid _wouldn’t_ say to him, or to any of his other concerned teammates about that ordeal. 

Clearly, the mandatory psych sessions hadn’t helped either. Reid had gone, not because he wanted to talk about himself, but because not complying would mean being sidelined until he did. So Reid had gone to his scheduled sessions. Evidently, he’d given the appropriate answers, complete with appropriate corresponding emotions - how could he not when he knew full well what the questions were already? 

Gideon had sensed that it was all for nothing, for what good were the sessions when Reid had the intelligence to out shrink a shrink and he simply wasn’t ready to share his pain? The young agent was floundering emotionally, still functioning within the unit, but unable to grab onto the lifelines his teammates tried to throw him, once they’d become aware that despite the psychologist’s insistence to the contrary, Reid was not fine. 

Looking at the young genius now, Gideon sensed some kind of change had occurred within, but what, he couldn’t tell strictly from visual observation. Whatever it was, he hoped it was for the better, for absent a reasonable explanation, Reid’s act of missing his plane would carry stiff consequences, and could very well signal the beginning of the end of his membership in the BAU. 

Gideon moved forward with stealth and grace, maneuvering between tables and other lounge chairs filled with people listening with rapt attention to the musician’s magic. Finally, he reached his destination. Silently, the senior agent, sat down in the vacant seat next to Reid’s. 

The young man didn’t seem surprised by the sudden appearance of his supervisor, neither did he greet him with the open, friendly expression to which Agent Gideon was accustomed. It tore at Gideon’s heart to see the almost wary look appear on his protégé’s face. 

Reid didn’t look at his supervisor, choosing instead to keep his gaze on the man playing the piano in front of him. “How’d you find me?” 

“You’re not that hard to profile.” Gideon hoped his comment would earn him at least a half-smile out of the younger man, but Reid’s face now gave away nothing. Gideon changed the subject. “Your friend is good,” he noted with a nod towards Ethan.

Reid’s hazel eyes were dark and luminous with emotion as he glanced up once and then looked quickly away. The Adam’s apple on the slender neck moved once convulsively. “I missed that plane on purpose,” he said, abruptly changing the subject. 

Gideon looked at Reid through compassionate eyes, noting the shame that he wore like a cloak about his person for having admitted such a derelict act. “I know,” he said gently, wanting sincerely to give Reid a chance to explain his behavior.

“I’m struggling.”

Gideon never hesitated, inwardly breathing a sigh of relief. Finally, the young man was ready to break out of his denial about the impact of what he had been through. Agent Gideon’s eyes radiated gentleness and wisdom. “Well, anyone who has been through what you’ve experienced would be.” 

Reid gazed off in the distance. Not so long before, in Ethan’s apartment. he’d reached a turning point. He’d just now made an important admission to his supervisor, and there would be no going back. A look that bespoke of a longing to speak freely crossed his expressive face, making him look even younger than his twenty-three years. Reid met Gideon’s concerned gaze. “I thought I was groomed for it,” he began vaguely. “I never even considered another option.”

“Now you’re questioning whether or not you’re strong enough to be here.”

“Yeah.” 

The compassionate eyes held Reid‘s attention. “I’ve been playing at this job in one way or another for almost thirty years. I’ve felt lost, I’ve felt great, and I have felt scared, sick, and insane.” Gideon’s voice started to drift off on the wings of memory before refocusing. “I don’t know...I guess the day this job stops gnawing at my soul...your hands - your hands stop feeling cold, maybe that’s the time to leave.”

“I guess I just needed to figure out if I could step away from this job.”

“And?”

“I’ll never miss another plane again.” 

Agent Gideon received Reid’s declaration for what it was - a solemn vow to never again keep his emotional struggles to himself.

The fragile bond between mentor and mentoree that had of late, seemed so strained and tenuous, gained some measure of strength as it underwent a mending of sorts. It was too late in the evening for it, Gideon knew, but tomorrow would come soon enough and with it, time, he hoped for Special Agent Dr. Spencer Reid to regain his equilibrium with the rest of the BAU.

 

********

The morning after Morgan and Prentiss arrived back from Texas, Morgan woke up in an uncharacteristically foul mood, having not slept well because he still hadn’t seen Spencer and was concerned for him. As soon as he and Prentiss had returned to New Orleans, he had immediately inquired about the BAU’s youngest. Much to his frustration, he’d been told merely that, “Agent Gideon was handling things.” 

What the hell did that mean? Gideon knew where Spencer was? He’d talked with him? The younger man was all right? Or was he ill? The unknown dogged his dreams, had robbed him of the rest he needed in order to be on top of his game to help catch a vicious serial killer. 

Despite his lack of rest, Morgan, along with Emily Prentiss, was at the police station command center first thing in the morning. He was taken totally by surprise when not ten minutes after he’d arrived, Spencer Reid sauntered in and gave a greeting by way of a casual inquiry about the two of them being back from Galveston.

The scene that he had envisioned in his mind - of seeing Spencer in private, of baring his soul to him, and in return with gentle caresses and tenderness, helping lift the emotional burden from Spencer’s soul that had for too long, caused him anguish, failed to materialize. Instead, his fear for the agent’s welfare and his relief at seeing the slender man looking well, and apparently unapologetic about having missed an assignment, rankled Morgan. 

The kind words he meant to say, shriveled on his tongue. Instead, a sharp inquiry, more like a rebuke than an honest question ensued. “Where were you?”

“I was out with a friend.”

Prentiss frowned disapprovingly at Reid‘s nonchalant response. “I called you four times.”

“I didn’t have any cell phone reception, so I didn’t get your message until late.” 

“Right,” Prentiss didn’t bother to hide her disbelief at the excuse that probably sounded just as lame to one who said it.

Morgan forced himself to swallow his disappointment at Reid’s likely obfuscation. _Man, don’t do this._

“What’s going on?” 

Agent Prentiss ignored her colleague. Morgan, on the other hand gave Reid a long, measured look that had the younger man shifting uncomfortably under it. The message that the suave agent was sending was clear, _Later._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback much appreciated.


	6. Six

*******

For Morgan, later came that night when he, paired with Reid, went searching for their deranged UnSub, whose gender turned out to be surprisingly female. 

As the two agents walked the dark, crowded streets of the French Quarter, Derek Morgan kept one eye on the teaming crowd of revelers, scanning the faces of every female he saw, while running the profile through his mind again. The other eye, it seemed, was reserved for surreptitiously checking out his partner who walked in feigned casualness beside him. 

They were communicating in stilted sentences of one-word syllables - Morgan, because he was sitting on his urge to throttle Reid for the poor answers he’d given that morning, and Reid, because he was very cognizant of the fact that he had blown it by his failure to apologize and come clean about his actions. Morgan’s and Prentiss’ abrupt confrontation first thing when he’d arrived at the precinct headquarters had raised his defenses and brought to life the ghosts of old insecurities.

Side by side, the two agents walked the crowded streets, maneuvering their way through a colorful kaleidoscope of inebriated college students, wide-eyed tourists, and horny young beautiful men and women looking to hook-up. After a half an hour, Reid began to look more relaxed and the conversation surrounding the UnSub flowed naturally. _Good_ , Morgan thought.

He decided it was time to try again with Spencer. Above all, he _needed_ , the younger man to trust him with the truth. He didn’t just want to guard Spencer’s back. Someday, if Reid would let him, he wanted to be the guardian of his heart, protecting the very soul that had become unknowingly to Spencer, so very precious to him. But if Reid couldn‘t trust him, _wouldn‘t_ , trust him, then Morgan knew there was no point in telling him that he had developed romantic feelings for him. 

Morgan stopped in his tracks and turned to face Reid with dark, serious eyes. “You gonna tell me why you missed that plane to Galveston?”

“I already told you, I didn’t have any cell reception.” Reid glanced around, looking uncomfortable again.

“Right.” Morgan stared.

“What?”

“Any time you want to come up with a better reason, I’m standing right here.” Bitterness colored his response. Without a backward glance, Morgan resumed walking, leaving a momentarily stunned Reid to catch up. 

 

*******

Victims and blood. It was the norm not the exception for BAU cases to involve bodies found in various bloody states from the exsanguinated to the ones made gory red through evisceration. In whatever end of the blood spectrum the bodies were in, they all shared in the commonality of being dead, all having had their lives stolen from them before their time. Each one told a grisly story of pain and suffering. Each one cried out for justice. Some received it, some never did. Each, to various degrees, left an indelible mark upon the souls of those that labored to find the killers. 

That was true of the BAU agents, especially of the youngest. Spencer Reid, whose particular intellectual gifts included the burden of having an eidetic memory, along with his own unique social and emotional deficiencies, suffered to a greater degree than his older, more socially sophisticated and hardened teammates in that regard. 

Occasionally, the BAU found the bloody bodies of victims whose life pulses, however faint, could still be detected. For every one that was found, just a little more light and hope came in to dispel the darkness. It was a reprieve from the little bit of soul-death that occurred with each untimely discovery of a dead body. That was the case with the last victim to cross paths with the New Orleans serial killer. 

After a fruitless search for the UnSub in the French Quarter, which culminated in the gruesome discovery of yet another bloody male corpse, the BAU along with Detective LaMontagne from New Orleans, caught a most fortuitous break.

The UnSub, the Jack-the-Ripper imitator, aka Sarah Danlin was caught just moments away from torturing and killing her restrained, naked and hapless, male victim. Before she could, Danlin had been arrested, grabbing on to the lifeline of humanity that LaMontagne had thrown her. 

The victim had been released from his bonds and ministered to by a team of paramedics. He’d then been strapped to a gurney, and loaded into an ambulance; bloody, hurting, in shock but very much alive. 

Agents Prentiss, Hotchner, Gideon, Morgan, and Reid were on scene amidst the sirens, bright lights, paramedics, and swarms of uniformed police officers. Faces that had been tight with tension just a short time ago were now transformed by expressions of intense satisfaction at having captured the brutal killer of too many innocent lives. 

Morgan, who had holstered his weapon, looked on with grim satisfaction as Detective LaMontagne placed the weeping Sarah Danlin in handcuffs and led her out to a squad car flanked by two uniformed police officers. He couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief and exchange silent looks of congratulations between himself, Prentiss, Hotchner, and Gideon. 

Then Morgan’s gaze sought out Reid. The younger man was still standing discreetly out of the way, watching as Danlin had been cuffed and led away, and the male victim taken out to the ambulance. Morgan’s dark brown eyes met Reid’s hazel ones. The moment he saw the younger man, his tall form leaning against the wall, both hands in his trouser pockets, Morgan felt a strong jolt run though his entire being.

The expression on Reid’s face transfixed the svelte agent. Morgan knew without being told with words that Reid had found his way home, for his was a look that said, I’m sorry. I understand now. This is where I’m supposed to be, and this is where I intend to stay. 

Whatever demons had threatened to drive Reid away from the BAU, it looked to Morgan as though his friend had finally vanquished them. The look of profound satisfaction on the exquisite face, the likes of which Morgan had not seen since Reid had suffered his ordeal with Tobias weeks ago, made the slim man appear infinitely transcendent and beautiful. Morgan’s brain took notice, and promptly notified his cock. The hot blood rushed to his groin and he nearly broke out in a sweat from the intensity of his feelings and his body’s response.

Morgan flushed with embarrassment at such an unseemly, uncharacteristic lack of control and he hoped that Spencer hadn’t noticed anything amiss. The unsettled man quickly turned his head away, pretending to be distracted by something one of the uniformed officers standing by said, thus he didn’t see the look of puzzlement that crossed Reid’s face. 

Their job was done and it was time to start making preparations for the return flight home. Derek Morgan walked out of Danlin’s apartment and back to the car that would take him back to police headquarters.

For some time after Derek left, Spencer Reid stood staring at the space where his friend had stood. He was deep in thought, pondering the possible meaning behind the fascinating play of emotions he had glimpsed on the older agent’s face. 

It wasn’t long before his lips curved into a slow grin.

 

********

Derek Morgan unlocked and opened the front door of his apartment and with weary sigh of relief, stepped inside. The day that had seen closure to the latest serial killer’s reign of terror had been long and draining. All the tired agent really wanted to do was take a long hot shower and wash the New Orleans grime and memories of decay far away from his body and soul. 

Derek stripped and deposited his dirty clothing into the closet hamper. Naked, he padded into the bathroom and started his shower. Soon, the comfortably hot water was cascading down his smooth, chocolate colored skin, and that, along with the gentle soaping of his body soothed and relaxed the powerful muscles of his chest, arms, back, and thighs. Derek couldn’t help but let out a low groan of contentment. 

The steam rose and caused the glass walls of the shower to fog. Tilting his head back and leaning against the wall, Derek closed his eyes, and let his thoughts drift freely as the weariness and dirt washed down the drain in the swirling water. Images of Reid teased his mind and he took great pleasure in examining them, one after another. 

Morgan wondered what it would be like to know Reid’s body as well as he knew his own. What would it be like to feast on the younger man’s lips, suckle on the rose-bud nipples adorning that smooth chest. What would it be like to enter that compact ass and ride it until they both screamed in ecstasy as they climaxed explosively?

Without conscious thought, Morgan ran his hands down well-defined pectoral muscles, his fingers gently brushing his own darkly colored, Hershey-kissed nipples. The sensual feel of the enveloping steam and the clean smell of sandalwood and soap refreshed his body and removed the aches from everywhere, save one piece of his anatomy. 

The sensations of rising sexual excitement stirred within, making his body’s long ignored needs known. He groaned aloud as his hand automatically grasped his cock, which was rapidly hardening from his growing arousal.   
He closed his eyes and began a languid pumping action on the long organ.

In his mind, it was not his hand that skillfully stroked the heated flesh, but Spencer’s. In his fantasy, his beautiful Spencer, eyes blazing with desire, shared the intimate space of the shower with him. His body shook and shivered from the intensity of his need. His hand rubbed up and down faster and faster, until all the world was narrowed down to only his strong hand and throbbing cock. 

Orgasm was imminent, bringing him up to the crest and sweeping him back down to the other side as his cock erupted in a shower of cum all over his hand. Weak-kneed and panting for air, Morgan’s legs felt like rubber that refused to support his weight. He found his back sliding down the wall of the shower until his buttocks hit the warm shower floor. 

It was quite some time later that Morgan found the strength to get himself out of the shower, dry off and tumble into bed. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow. 

 

*******

The mood in the office was jovial following the BAU required case debrief. After the meeting, the agents had all departed the conference room, each one headed towards their respective desks to get caught up and work on individual reports.

Morgan made to go to his desk when he was intercepted by Reid. The younger man couldn’t quite hide his nervousness in his approach. On the other hand, Morgan couldn’t quite hide his surprised pleasure to see Reid seeking him out. Reid coughed awkwardly and his eyes darted from left to right as if to ensure their conversation would not be overheard.

“Paella.”

“Pardon?”

“Paella, it’s the special today at Don Miguel’s.”

Morgan grinned, pleased that Spencer would know that. Playfully, he strung Reid along. “And...?”

“And I know it’s your favorite Spanish meal there and I thought we could go and grab some for lunch.”

“Oh yeah?” Surprised, Morgan leaned forward. “How do you know that?” To the best of his knowledge, he’d never been there with anyone in the office, or discussed his fondness for that particular gourmet Spanish dish.

Equally as playful, Reid tapped his head lightly. “I know,” he said confidently. Then he blushed as if afraid that Morgan would angrily think he had invaded his privacy somehow. He pushed a stray lock of hair back from his forehead. “So will you?”

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

Reid’s answering smile was brief and slightly shy, then his face turned serious. “Derek...”

Morgan looked quizzically at Reid.

“I just wanted to... well I just wanted an opportunity to apologize to you and tell you the truth about why I missed that plane. You deserved that the first time you asked me in New Orleans.” 

“Spencer, I’m your friend. If you want to talk about it with me, I’m here to listen. I’m thinking though, that maybe you don’t need to now - and you don’t owe me anything,” he added. 

Reid was silent for a moment. “Yeah, I do,” he said softly.

That was fine with Morgan. He could accept that. “I’ll see you at lunch then.”

With a quick nod of his head, Reid turned around and walked off. 

 

*******

All that morning, Agents Morgan, Prentiss, Reid and Jareau worked diligently at their desks. Garcia had returned to her separate domain where she reigned supreme as the BAU’s top-notch analyst. From time to time either Agent Gideon or Hotchner would come out with a special tasking for a particular agent. 

To an agent, they were all dedicated professionals, but they were also young, fun-loving people. Every once in a while, as if on an agreed upon cue, someone would signal a break time by wandering over to someone else’s desk to tell a joke, share an interesting or amusing fact that would get the others talking and laughing. 

Morgan laughed at the jokes told and in his turn, did his share of horsing around and sharing bits of entertaining news and facts too. To all save the knowing eyes of Penelope Garcia, Morgan appeared to be behaving in a normal fashion. _Something’s going on here,_ she thought.

Garcia enjoyed a special friendship with the suave, sexy Morgan and knew him better than just about anyone else in the unit. The two colleagues loved to joke with each other, alternating outrageous flirting with teasing more reminiscent of a brother and sister. Garcia’s interest then was piqued when she observed Morgan’s eyes constantly drifting like magnets towards the unit’s youngest member. 

For the longest time she’d thought it was just her over-active imagination that fancied that Morgan had feelings deeper than friendship for Reid. Was it the numerous times Morgan seemed to feel it necessary to touch Reid? She’d gotten used to the sight of Morgan’s hand brushing against Reid’s arm, placing it on the young man’s shoulders or patting his back affectionately. Was it the way he vigilantly looked after and protected the young, vulnerable genius? No single factor alone accounted for her conclusion, she knew, but nonetheless, her instincts told her that Morgan’s outward fascination with the opposite sex was merely an illusion - a poor substitute for what the man _really_ wanted.

And Reid, very private and socially awkward being that he was, never seemed to mind Morgan’s touches. Today was no exception. Garcia’s subtle study of Reid and Morgan included the observation that Reid never moved away or looked uncomfortable whenever Morgan touched him. But there was more...a feigned casualness belied by a certain look - a mixture of curiosity and interest in Spencer’s eyes every time his met Derek’s. 

Garcia watched the interaction and outwardly smiled. Her colleagues seeing her would assume her good mood was in response to their entertaining antics. Let them think what they will, for her smile was not for the antics, but for the developments between her two favorite profilers. 

It wasn’t long before the break ended and the agents wandered back to their respective desks. Garcia had but one thought as she walked back to her private station, _It’s about time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Appreciate the feedback.


	7. Chapter 7

Don Miguel’s was an upscale Spanish cuisine restaurant which served the kind of food of which Agent Morgan was keenly fond. He occasionally went there for lunch and had even taken a female dinner companion there once or twice. 

Now he was here with Spencer Reid, ostensibly to have lunch and allow Reid to talk about things he needed to get off his chest. That was fine with him. He too had things he wanted to get off his chest. When all was said and done, he and Reid were either leaving the restaurant, intent on embarking on a deeper personal relationship, or he would have screwed up things royally and he‘d have to keep his distance from the young genius. 

The two sat down at a comfortably-situated table and wasted no time in ordering the special from the female waitress who looked with an appreciative eye at her attractive customers. Morgan relaxed into his environment, flashing his trade-mark smile that showed teeth as white as the crisp, clean cloth that adorned their table. His smile was for the waitress, but his eyes...he had eyes only for Spencer. 

The effect of Morgan’s smile upon the waitress, a pretty college co-ed, was instantaneous. She flirted coyly with Morgan, until, as if sensing some disconnect, abruptly halted to retrieve the menus and rapidly walk back to the kitchen. 

Reid, who was watching Morgan, watching him, observed all of that with a curious look on his face that resembled part fascination and part mild amusement.

“That’s an amazing gift you have, Derek,” Reid commented, no tinge of judgment tainting his tone.

Morgan shrugged. “I like making women feel good. I like women...”   
The truth of the words did nothing to prevent him from flushing when he realized how Spencer might misconstrue his meaning. He looked away. At least, at one time I thought I did.

Reid’s voice cut through his thoughts with an awkward change of subject. “Have you ever made Paella yourself?”

Morgan‘s lips curved into a slight smile. “Once or twice.” 

“Really?” Reid’s expression lit up. 

“Uh, yeah. Why, have you?”

Reid managed to crack a rueful grin and look serious at the same time. “I tried once. Did you know that if you want it to have just that perfect yellow color you have to use Saffron? That spice is really hard to find and very expensive. 

No. He didn’t know that. He didn’t particularly give a rat’s ass about it either and neither did Spencer, he was sure. The older man recognized the spontaneous recitation of facts for what it was - a sign of Spencer’s sudden nervousness. 

“Just buy the rice with the Saffron already in it.”

“Oh.”

Time to take the bull by the horns before their lunch hour ran out.

“Why did you invite me here?” 

“Why did you accept my invitation?” Reid countered almost without thinking. The young agent sighed softly, “I’m sorry, that’s not fair. I asked you to lunch because I wanted a chance to apologize for the way I shut you out and explain my actions in New Orleans.”

“It’s okay, Spencer.”

“No, it isn’t. I handled everything badly and because of it, I let my teammates d````own.” He paused and took a sip of water. “I need to tell you this, okay?” 

Morgan silently nodded in support. What other option did he have when Spencer was looking at him out of eyes so transparent in expressing his need to explain himself and make things right and easy again between them?

Before Reid could speak again, the pretty waitress returned loaded down with the special hot dish used for cooking and serving Paella, along with two empty plates, all of which she set down on the table with an artificial smile and efficient professionalism.

The smell and sight of the hot food made Morgan’s mouth water. Reid handed a plate to Morgan before snagging the other for himself. For the moment, the conversation was on hold, for in short order, they had served themselves and were busy enjoying the delicious Spanish specialty consisting of rice, seafood and chicken.

Morgan was still eating heartily, but Reid, after a time, put his fork down after having had only a few bites of the cuisine. 

When Morgan noticed Reid’s distraction, he too put his fork down. “Talk to me,” he gently encouraged his companion.

The pale, exquisite face in front of Morgan was open, and the hazel eyes did not shy away from meeting his. “You tried to help me, to get me to talk to you, but I couldn’t. I completely shut you out, and I hurt you in the process. I knew I was doing it, but it was like I was powerless to stop it. I didn’t know why then.” The flood of words poured out of Reid in an earnest torrent. 

Morgan looked at Reid with compassionate eyes. “And you know why, now?”

Reid looked thoughtful. “Yeah. I think I do know. I wanted so badly, more than anything in my entire life, to be a member of the BAU. It was the first time ever that I allowed myself to think that I’d found the place where I was meant to be - where I would be allowed to bring everything that makes me who I am into a place where I could do my job to the best of my ability and be accepted.” 

“You have some pretty unique skills. There isn’t anybody else quite like you, Spencer.” 

Reid shrugged. “For most of my life, that hasn’t been a good thing, Derek. I was always too young, too skinny, too awkward, too smart, too shy for most people to even try and like me. When I made it into the BAU I still felt...different, but over time, it was okay because you all accepted me. You didn‘t doubt me.” 

He paused and his lips quirked into a brief, self-deprecating smile. “Turns out, the only one with the doubts about me, was me.” 

Morgan frowned. “Doubts about what?”

“All kinds of things. In the back of my mind I wondered if I was going to be able to deal with some of the things we have to in this job. Would I find the emotional fortitude to constantly examine the evidence of just how evil human beings can be to one another? I wondered could I keep up physically. Could I protect myself or someone else out in the field? Could I take a life if necessary? What if the team relied on some conclusion I made and I was wrong and as a result, an innocent person died? I think that just about covers it,” he said in a low voice.

Reid paused and it was a though Morgan saw the ghosts of every last one of Spencer’s hidden doubts cross his expressive face. It brought back a certain recollection of an incident concerning Reid. Morgan’s mind strolled through the memory of when the younger agent had failed his weapons qualification test and his response had been to tease him about it. 

Because of his failure, Reid had been forced to relinquish his weapon. Such an event for any agent would have been nothing more than perfect fodder for serious ribbing and a temporary case of embarrassment for the agent in question, not a cause for deep inner shame and doubt. Unknowingly for Morgan, it had become just that for Reid. 

Only later did he learn how much the stressed, younger agent had taken a hit to his professional self-esteem by his failed qualifications test and his subsequent teasing about it. 

But not long afterward, Reid had proven his competency with a weapon, not on a static firing range, but out in a real world, intense hostage situation. Reid had shown both his mettle and his ability to shoot with deadly accuracy, and in the process, had not only defended his life, but saved the life of Agent Hotchner.

“You overcame all of those doubts, Spencer. You’ve proven over and over again that you belong in the BAU.” Morgan was quick to reassure, still not certain where his friend was going.

“I know,” Reid replied softly. “After three years of being in the BAU, I truly believed that I could not only survive in this job, but thrive too. I’ve seen a lot of evil things, but nothing really prepared me emotionally to deal with having all that evil directed at me when I couldn’t get away from Tobias. It didn’t make any difference that I was a trained FBI agent. Tobias stripped away all of my control, and he made me so afraid. ”

“Anyone would have been afraid, Spencer,” Morgan stated darkly. 

“That’s true,” Reid readily assented, “but among other things, that experience brought me right back to that place where every old fear and doubt I had about whether I could cut it in the BAU came back. Reid swallowed hard at the next painful memory, but he continued on. “I went back to work, but I was completely numb inside, like part of me never left that cabin. That numbness drowned out every attempt you and the others tried to reach me. ”

“Being dead will do that to you,” Morgan replied dryly. 

Reid opened his mouth to respond, but the waitress’ sudden reappearance with drink refills and dessert menus interrupted him. After a cursory look at the menus, they both declined to order dessert. The waitress gathered up the menus and left with a promise to return soon with the check. 

Morgan wasted no time in asking the question that was on his mind.  
“You were thinking about quitting the BAU, weren‘t you? Is that why you missed the plane to Galveston?” It hardly mattered to him that he already knew that Spencer had successfully made it through his personal crisis - the very thought of him leaving the BAU still unsettled him. 

“Yes,” Reid replied simply. “I was thinking about it a lot. The memories of the fear and pain of what I went through were so strong - paralyzingly strong - and they weren’t going away. I...I felt like this job had come so close to destroying me and it scared me because staying meant accepting the fact that something like that could happen to me again, and well...well, I just couldn‘t do that. Spencer smiled a cheerless smile. “Funny thing though - every time I thought about leaving, I felt almost sick to my stomach. I just couldn’t see myself walking away. I needed to know if I could find the strength to do it if it came right down to it.”

Morgan felt his heart rate spike even as he outwardly schooled his features into a semblance of casual inquisitiveness. “Can you?”

“Yes,” Reid replied and this time, the small smile was genuine. “But I don’t want to.”

Thank God for that. With great effort, Morgan stilled his hand which, as if on its on accord, made to move to grasp the pale, fine-boned hand of his companion which lay upon the table. Instead he permitted his eyes to embrace Spencer in the warm brown depths, hoping his companion would receive and understand that which he longed to communicate through a physical caress. 

He took note of the way the younger man’s silky brown hair, grown even longer, curled around at the ends and fell in most beguiling way across his forehead. 

Reid took a deep breath. “And I want you to know how sorry I am that acted so unprofessionally in New Orleans. I knew Emily called me, but I chose to ignore the call. I realize there’s nothing I can do to change what happened, all I can promise is that nothing like that will ever happen again and hope that you accept my apology.”

“I accepted your apology before you said it.”

“Thank you.” Reid’s reply was soft and sincere.

Morgan glanced down at his watch and immediately frowned at the lateness of the hour. Both Morgan and Reid were extremely conscientious agents - being late, either in arriving to work or returning from lunch, was a behavior that was foreign to their work ethics. 

“Damn, we’ve gotta get back to the office, Spencer.” 

Reid looked surprised, and a faint blush tinged his cheeks - no doubt caused by his own embarrassed realization that he had utterly monopolized the entire lunchtime conversation. 

While Reid might feel embarrassed Morgan, on the other hand, was pleased that the young agent had taken the time to unburden himself to him. It was clear that doing so was exactly what Spencer had needed to do, and the older man was determined to knock down, go through, move under, jump over any hurdle he had to in order to have the opportunity seek a romantic, body and soul relationship with him. As he thought about the other significant matter that was on his mind, he resigned himself to the fact that he was just going to have to speak to Reid later - the sooner, though, the better.

Morgan flashed his dazzling smile and said with a lightness he didn’t exactly feel, “It’s not gonna be the last time you and I talk, you know.”

“Well, if you think about the number of places in the BAU alone where our paths could conceivably intersect, then -”

“Spencer!” Morgan looked at his genius friend with a look of exasperation mixed with fondness on his face.

For a moment, Reid looked at Morgan with a blank, innocent stare. Then his face broke into a grin and he quietly said, “Yeah, we’ll talk later.”

In short order, the two settled the lunch bill and headed back to the BAU. For one man, the lunch date symbolized the closing of a chapter, dark and troubled. For the other, it symbolized the opening of a new chapter full of promise, full of light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to anyone giving this a read. Love to hear what you think. 
> 
> http://romanseartfanfic.com


	8. Chapter 8

When Morgan and Reid returned to the BAU office spaces, they found Agent Prentiss standing behind her desk gathering up a notepad, pen, and a full coffee cup. The dark-haired woman looked up as the two men went to their respective desks. 

“Don’t get comfortable, boys, we’re wanted in the conference room. Looks like we have a new case,” Prentiss announced with her customary grimness. 

“No rest for the weary,” Morgan quipped as he snagged paper and pen and prepared to head towards the conference room. 

“Or the wicked, apparently,” Reid muttered under his breath as he too grabbed a notebook and pen.

Agents Gideon, Hotchner, and Jareau were conferring together in the conference room as the rest of the team members assembled. 

The room’s latest decor had a particularly gruesome quality. Four, 16 x 12 color photographs depicting disturbing images of things that presumably were once living human beings, but were now hardly recognizable as such, adorned the wall at the head of the long table. A fifth and sixth photograph, clearly taken at a hospital, were head and full nude body shots of a living victim - a young woman who was emaciated and covered with cuts and severe bruising.

A huge map showing the east coast of the United States was displayed alongside the photos. There were four places on the map that were marked with pieces of paper with writing on them.

As Morgan took his seat, he couldn’t help but make the covert observation that when Reid looked at the gruesome photographs, his face remained calm and he didn’t flinch away. The analytical professional the BAU needed was back and in control; a fact he noted with sincere satisfaction.

Everyone but Agent Jareau took their place at the table. Jareau began passing out folders containing basic case facts and contact information. “Law enforcement agencies in Florida, Virginia, New Jersey and Maine believe they have identified the bodies of at least four victims, all women, believed to have been murdered by the same person over a two-year time period. 

Garcia looked disgusted. “This UnSub gets around,” she noted as she looked at the geographic spread as indicated by the placement of the pins. 

Agent Hotchner nodded in agreement. “The UnSub is particularly mobile and has selected the type of victims who don’t have strong family or social ties - the type of person that if they went missing, it would be awhile before someone noticed, or even bothered to ask about. That’s partly been a factor in why he - and we know the UnSub is a male - remained undetected for so long.”

Jareau picked up where she left off in her briefing. “The UnSub used a combination of methods in an attempt to destroy the bodies of the victims to make it difficult, if not impossible, to identify them. He burned them, but first, he used a rather unique combination of chemical solvents to strip the flesh away.”

Jareau paused to look at the large map behind her. “All of the bodies were discovered along deserted, heavily wooded stretches of I-95. Here, along there, and here.” She used a pointer to indicate various places on the map. 

“This,” Agent Jareau pointed to the picture of the living victim, “is Ellen Barnes. She’s currently in a hospital in Richmond in critical condition. She was discovered at a rest stop, hysterical and unable to communicate clearly about where she’d been or who had hurt her. 

“It took the authorities the discovery of the fourth body in Maine, which had only been by sheer luck, only partially destroyed by fire to link that death to Ellen and to the other bodies.”

Reid glanced away from the photographs and the map where his attention had been focused. “Why was it sheer luck?”

“I mean that the killer used the solvent and set the body on fire as he’s done in the past. Guess he didn’t plan on a sudden afternoon shower to move in, douse the flames, and dilute the solvent before the body could be significantly destroyed.” 

Agent Hotchner spoke again in that cool, yet intense way that was uniquely his, “Not only was there enough of the body left for a CSI unit in Maine to identify the victim, but they were able to break down and identify the unique chemicals in the solvent. The other bodies were so badly destroyed by fire that no one realized that the killer had applied a solvent to them. Fortunately, that information was shared across state lines and an inquiry was made as to other unsolved murders. There were some partially torn remains of a garment found near the body in Virginia. The remnants tested positive for the presence of the very same chemical compound making up the solvent found on the body in Maine. The other charred remains later yielded the same results.” 

“The partially destroyed body has positively been identified as Lisa Foster. She and Ellen Barnes worked together as prostitutes around some of the local truck stops,” Jareau said. 

“If those two disappeared from truck stops, then our UnSub could very well be a trucker who’s making his route, abducting and killing women along the way,” Morgan offered. 

There was a small pause while the team contemplated that most likely possibility. 

“What actually killed the victims?” Morgan asked.

Agent Jareau looked slightly ill, but she stated bluntly, “Lisa Foster and Ellen Barnes were all both sexually tortured, and beaten. They showed signs of profound malnutrition. Ultimately, Lisa died of starvation.”

“Ellen Barnes managed to escape. Right now the UnSub is either targeting another victim, or has already acquired a new one. Folks, we need to work up a profile, and interview witnesses, starting with Ms. Barnes.” 

The meeting concluded as Agent Gideon stood up and began assigning tasks to the team members. To Morgan and Reid, he assigned the task of driving down to nearby Richmond to interview the hospitalized Ellen Barnes. The two agents wasted no time in returning to their respective desks in order to prepare for their departure. The first thing Morgan did was contact Ellen Barnes’ doctor by phone, while Reid secured their transportation. 

Morgan’s conversation with Dr. Edward Martin, attending physician for one Ellen Barnes was tinged unexpectedly with a distinct antagonistic edge emanating from the doctor. Dr. Martin was an annoying mixture of arrogance and condescension. He clearly felt it was a waste of time for the agents to come and attempt to speak to his patient. Morgan squelched his irritation as the doctor continued to pontificate on the subject until he was finished. Eventually, the smooth agent finished his call, having successfully coordinated their imminent visit.

Morgan rose and walked over to Reid’s desk with the intention of giving him a head’s-up on the difficult doctor. 

Reid looked up. “What?” 

I need to stop being so transparent. “You ready?” 

“Just about.” 

“Dr. Martin knows we’re on the way. He’s not too happy about it though. He insists it’s a waste of time.”

Reid shrugged. “Even the ramblings of a person suffering from extreme psychosis can have meaning. We won’t know until we see Ms. Barnes.”  
With that, Reid refocused his attention to finishing the transportation arrangements and to shutting down his computer.

Within twenty minutes Reid was behind the wheel of the borrowed black, FBI SUV, with Morgan next to him in the front passenger seat. The SUV shot down the long stretch of I-95 south, the wheels turning and lengthening the miles between its occupants and Quantico. Like the lengthening miles, Reid’s and Morgan’s private thoughts and hopeful desires for future romance grew evermore distant from their minds the farther the agents traveled from Quantico and closer to Richmond. 

There were other voices that crowded into their minds, demanding their attention and subjugating their deeply personal, pleasant thoughts of intimacy. The voices they heard now crying out for justice, were those belonging to the decayed remnants of what were once living, human beings. While the killer still roamed free, their voices would not be stilled, nor the urgency of the hunt diminished. 

 

********

Reid and Morgan walked along the narrow corridors of Richmond Community Hospital. Their gazes rested briefly on the cheap, plastic door name tags they passed, passing them by while seeking out the one name they had been given. Reid, who was checking the doors on the left side of the hallway, stopped suddenly. “He’s here,” he alerted Morgan.

Morgan stopped in front of the door. Their eyes met briefly and Morgan’s slight nod and look clearly conveyed, let’s get this over with. He gave  
a short, brisk knock on the door before opening it in response to the verbal invitation that issued forth from within. 

Dr. Martin, a beefy-looking man on the higher end of age 50, looked up from behind his desk. 

“I’m Agent Derek Morgan and this is Special Agent Dr. Spencer Reid.”

“Ah yes, I spoke on the phone with you, Agent Morgan.” The doctor’s words were pleasant enough, but his tone hinted at a touch of smug superiority. 

“I understand that you want to talk to Ellen Barnes. You can, but as I told you over the phone, Ms. Barnes will be transferred to the psychiatric unit as soon as she’s physically well enough. I doubt very seriously that she’ll be able to tell you anything useful in her current state.”

“What is her current state?” Reid asked.

Dr. Martin’s steel-grey eyes swept over Reid as if he were examining an interesting insect. Morgan bristled internally, but Reid merely returned the man’s gaze expectantly. 

“Ms. Barnes is in serious condition; whatever animal brutalized that girl left her severely mentally traumatized. Since she’s been here she has yet to utter one coherent sentence. The police already tried interviewing her and all they achieved was making her blood pressure go so high she almost stroked out. Despite my warnings about how utterly useless this exercise is, you FBI types, who haven’t personally experienced being a traumatized victim, want to have a go at her too.” 

Reid’s slight wince was very nearly imperceptible - but not to Morgan whose mild irritation at Dr. Martin grew to definite dislike. He couldn’t recall ever having encountered a more pompous, insensitive doctor. 

“Dr. Martin, we’ll be as careful as we can with Ms. Barnes - you’ll be present during the interview, monitoring her, and if you say stop, we will.” Reid talked quickly and earnestly. “Please understand, whoever did this to Ellen did it to at least three other women. He may already be brutalizing another woman. We know he won’t stop kidnapping and hurting other women the way he did Ellen Barnes until he’s caught.” 

At that, Dr. Martin’s face lost a bit of its smugness. “Very well, agents. Follow me up to ICU and let’s get this over with.” Dr. Martin strode out of his office with Reid and Morgan following him. The elevator ride up to the third floor ICU was made in silence. A short walk down the hall, through the double doors and a few steps later, the agents found themselves in front of a glass-enclosed cubicle. 

Morgan looked at the figure in the bed and fought down the urge to be sick on the spot at what he saw. The suave agent who'd seen everything from bashed-in baby heads to bodies with no heads at all, felt his guts roil at the sight of the broken, gibbering, hairless scarecrow that lay in a bed dwarfed by tubes and machines; machines that monitored, and machines that put things in, and machines that took things away. This was Ellen Barnes. 

It took an act of will on Morgan's part to not grab Reid's arm and leave the ICU to care for its horror of humanity. The urge to tell him that Dr. Martin was right - that the woman was in no condition to tell them anything, was strong and threatened to upstage his devotion to duty. He centered himself instead and stepped farther inside the room along with Reid.

Dr. Martin performed a cursory check on his patient, then he excused himself with the warning that the agents had no more than five minutes. 

It was Reid who stepped towards the bed first. His face was white, almost as pale looking to Morgan as the night the team had rescued him from Tobias' clutches. The young agent looked around, grabbed a chair and quietly rolled it close to the bedside. Morgan wordlessly placed the recorder close to the bed and switched it on. Then he, too, grabbed a chair and rolled it close to the opposite side of the bed. Pad and pencil in hand, he was ready to take back-up notes of the interview. 

"Ms. Barnes?" Reid's voice cracked slightly from what was, no doubt, an initial bout of nervousness. There was no response from Ellen. She appeared to be completely oblivious to her visitors’ presence as her sunken eyes roamed without seeing. Mumbled desperate-sounding promises about being good and not telling poured out. Now and then strange words punctuated her speech. Morgan leaned forward to better hear the litany of non-stop words, but he shook his head in frustration when all he heard was something that sounded like 'motrmo'. 

Reid tried again. This time with one hand, he gently shifted the bruised and battered face towards him. "Ms. Barnes? My name is Spencer Reid. This is Derek Morgan. We work for the FBI and we just want to talk to you for a moment. Would that be all right?" 

The eyes continued to roam, but the gibbering punctuated with occasional recognizable words, ceased. 

Encouraged, Reid spoke again. "Ms. Barnes, can you tell us the name of the man who hurt you?"

Silence.

"Can you describe your kidnapper?" 

The nonsensical gibbering resumed. 

His heart heavy, Morgan looked up. "Spencer, I don't think..."

"Wait!" Reid held up his hand. He was gazing at Ellen with an intense look of concentration on his face. Morgan inhaled sharply as he looked back down at Ellen. The woman's gaze had locked onto Reid's face and for a moment, the glazed, crazed look in her eyes melted away, and some semblance of waking sanity took its place. 

The thin, bloodless lips parted and struggled to bring forth words when only moments before the flow of words could not have been halted save for pharmaceutical intervention. The moment hung in the air until at last she spoke in a whisper-soft voice. "The mountains are on fire...fire," she repeated. Her eyes closed and she fell deeply unconscious. 

Morgan bowed his head in defeat. He stood up abruptly and shut the recorder off before sticking it in a pocket of the light jacket he wore. "That's it, Spencer. She couldn't tell us anything useful and Dr. Martin was right. Let's get out of here before we get thrown out."

For a moment, Morgan thought Reid hadn't heard him. The younger man remained sitting still by the bed, his hand on the woman's forehead. He wore a thoughtful expression on his face that had the effect of maturing his youthful features. Morgan knew that look too well. It was the look that said the young genius was sifting through all the obscure pieces of information that resided in his brain, searching for that one fact or bizarre happenstance that would unlock the mystery to catching the latest UnSub. A minute or two passed until finally, he stood up and gently removed his hand. "She was trying to tell me something, Derek. She knew who I was and what I asked."

There was no doubt in Morgan's mind that what Reid had perceived was correct. He patted the recorder tucked safely in his jacket pocket and said, "Then let's get back to Quantico and figure it out."

Reid started down the hall, but Morgan did not immediately follow out. Reid stopped and turned around. "You coming, Derek?" 

"Yeah, just a minute."

He couldn't leave just yet. He had a promise to make first to the young broken woman whose short life had so obviously been one filled with so much pain and violation. Maybe she would recover, maybe not. "Either way this goes, Ms. Barnes, we'll stop the person responsible and he'll never hurt another woman again. I swear it." 

Derek turned and rapidly walked down the hall, shoulder to shoulder with Spencer Reid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's actually reading, some of these lower number chapters are not very long. That will very much change and some future chapter are extremely long. This is my first story to post on AO3 so I don't know if there is a word-count restriction when posting chapters. If there is, I'm wondering if readers have a preference for posting an update as part A and B, or would it be better to just renumber the story chapters to increase the number of chapters posted here? 
> 
>  
> 
> Feedback always appreciated.
> 
>  
> 
> http://romanseartfanfic.com


	9. chapter 9

The next morning, the entire BAU team once again sat at the long table to confer and report on the status of their respective tasks. Later they would jointly construct an initial profile based on any new information gained. 

Morgan and Reid briefed the others concerning their interview with Ellen Barnes. Reid’s eyes were closed in concentration as Morgan played the tape of the recording of the victim’s seemingly disjointed ramblings. 

When it was over, Prentiss looked disturbed. “That poor woman sounds completely traumatized,” the dark-haired agent said. “I’m sorry your trip was wasted.”

“It wasn’t wasted,” Reid murmured, his eyes still closed. 

Prentiss looked incredulously at Reid. “She said, ‘The mountains were on fire.’ She couldn’t have been talking about anything relevant.”

Reid opened his eyes and looked at Gideon and Hotch rather than Prentiss, “She was lucid when she said that. She knew who I was and what I was asking. I just need some time to figure out what she was trying to tell me.”

The wise and kind eyes of Jason Gideon looked around the table at the junior agents. Though technically not the BAU’s Team leader, it was a fact that the others looked up to him for his experience, and even the younger Agent Hotchner, the actual Team Leader, gave great deference to his opinions. “Do what you can, Reid.” So what do we know about our UnSub?”

“There is enough evidence gathered from the body of Lisa Foster and from Ellen Barnes to say unequivocally that our UnSub is a sexual sadist. The physical wounds indicate he’s turned on by sexual bondage and physical torture,” Agent Hotchner began. 

Morgan nodded his head in agreement. “This type of criminal is known to be much more methodical and detail oriented in planning out their crimes. Unfortunately, that means he’s going to be that much harder to catch.”

“Except this UnSub doesn’t know that the authorities have already connected the bodies to a single perpetrator. He certainly doesn’t know that Lisa Foster’s body was recovered relatively intact,” Emily Prentiss added. 

Garcia, who had walked into the conference room to discreetly hand Agent Hotchner a file of information she’d obtained, heard the comment and could not help feeling disconcerted. “But he does know that Ellen Barnes escaped. Won’t he try and come back and kill her?” she interjected. 

JJ, sweeping a lock of her long blond hair behind her ear, responded to the team’s resident expert analyst: “The Richmond authorities notified us just this morning that there’s been a police guard stationed outside of the ICU at Richmond Community for the time being.” 

Reid shook his head slightly, “I doubt if the UnSub, if he is a trucker with a delivery schedule he has to keep, is still hanging around in the area. Most likely he continued on his route and he’s acquired a new victim.”

If it were possible for the others to look more grime and determined, they would. 

The gathering of profilers and the sharing of information continued on until, as if on cue, the members rose from the table. The unspoken thought shared by all, drove them on with a fresh sense of urgency: somewhere along the east coast, a truck driver was hauling his commercial goods in the trailer, but in the living quarters of his cab, the UnSub had a new victim and was already inflicting a horrific level of pain and suffering on her.

On the second day, the detailed reports made by the CSI Unit in Miami regarding the chemical composition of the solvent, were made available. Penelope Garcia along with Agent Jareau set about constructing a list of all the companies that manufactured cleaning solvents containing that unique formula. By evening the list had gone to Prentiss who narrowed it down to companies who sold their products to schools, hospitals, and other facilities. 

By the third day, the nights and days spent working the case ran together into a seemingly unending blur of exhaustion for the members of the BAU. They analyzed, they strategized. They interviewed and canvassed, and yet they were not rewarded for their toil with the one single key that would lead them to the identity of the UnSub. Cases were seldom solved that way. It was the bits and pieces of the puzzle, painstakingly collected and analyzed, and sometimes sprinkled with a dose of fortuitous luck that more often than not, led to the apprehension of the UnSub. Morgan, tired and frustrated as he was, knew this. So did every one of his teammates. He couldn’t count the number of times had they come in in the morning and laughingly joked about the latest depiction of crime solving on the latest TV drama. 

They were determined as ever to catch and stop the UnSub, but as fate or luck would have it, the killer was equally determined to acquire a new victim and begin his reign of terror all over again. 

On the fourth day there was news that two days ago, a young female prostitute named Sugar Kane, who worked a popular truck stop off of I-95 near the city of Florence, South Carolina had disappeared. At noon she’d walked across the hot asphalt of the truck parking area in her Daisy Duke’s and worn stilettos, around to the back of the restaurant and shoppette. Her purpose: to pass the word to some of her co-workers that she was going out on a “lunch date” with a client who apparently wanted to go down the road a ways before conducting business. 

That afternoon, twenty-one year old Sugar had smugly walked away, ignoring the thoughtless, care-free jokes issuing forth from the heavily painted lips of her fellow prostitutes. Peels of laughter accompanied the calls to “don’t take a ride from a psycho” and “make sure he feeds you good.” Sugar paid them no heed. They were just jealous that they hadn’t secured a date. The young woman never looked back as she walked around the building. 

She never came back. 

One hour later a trucker parking his rig noticed blood and an open purse on the ground, its contents spilled out ingloriously. It was Sugar Kane’s purse. 

Law enforcement officials, responding to the FBI alerts, notified the BAU about a possible new victim of the UnSub. As a result, Morgan and Reid were subsequently dispatched to South Carolina to investigate. 

By the end of a very long day five, Morgan started to notice the pinched look that was beginning to appear on Reid’s face. He didn’t care for it, not at all, though he didn’t doubt that his own face sported a similar look. Though he knew Reid didn’t need looking after per se, he nonetheless worried about him. That was his way with those whom he loved. And he _did_ love Spencer. He no longer questioned it, didn’t want to analyze it. He just accepted it. 

On the plane ride back, he tried to talk to the younger man about anything other than the case in a vain attempt to inject some levity into the situation, but Reid, his lanky, preppy-style, clothes clad form bent over his laptop, was too focused on going over the day’s events to catch the social ball his friend was trying to throw him. Morgan withdrew gracefully and left the younger man to his task. 

Much later, when Morgan finally went to bed that night, he slept fitfully and dreamt of dead people he didn’t know - tortured, terrified faces of women, whose screams of pain where forever frozen in death. At midnight ,when the bright moon shone through his window in his bedroom, he suddenly sat up with a half-choked cry, looking straight ahead with wide, confused eyes. 

Recognition of his environment returned to him. “Damn,” he swore softly. He rubbed his tired eyes as memory of the dream returned - along with the realization that at the end, the eyes and terrified faces he had seen had coalesced into a single, beloved face. The eyes and face were not that of a woman, but those belonging to Spencer Reid. 

Morgan was shaken by his dream and try though he might, he could not go back to sleep. Instead he tossed and turned in his bed, fighting an absurd urge to see with his own eyes that Spencer was all right. The top sheet and covers were a tangled mess on the floor, and though he wore only sleeping pants and no shirt, he was hot and uncomfortable, the nagging need to talk to Spencer continuing to grow stronger. Finally, Morgan got up and looked with disgust at the lateness of the hour. _This is ridiculous. I can’t go over to his place now._ But even as his mind protested the absurdity of the idea, his body was busy taking off the sleep pants and throwing on jeans and a t-shirt. He was in his car five minutes later, steering the vehicle towards his destiny.

 

********

Derek Morgan stood outside the door of Reid’s home contemplating what he could possibly say to the young man to justify why he was suddenly and without benefit of an invitation, at the home of a man who he knew to be a very private and shy individual - and in the middle of the night no less.

He’d only ever been inside Reid’s home once before. Last year, the younger man’s car had been in the repair shop overnight and he’d needed a ride to Quantico. Morgan, being the agent who lived closest to him, volunteered to give him a ride. Curious about the home of his unusual colleague, he’d deliberately arrived early so that Reid would invite him inside while he finished getting ready.

He’d found a home decorated with an eclectic mix of antique furniture and inexpensive department store furnishings. He’d learned later that the beautiful antique furniture belonged to his institutionalized mother. There was but a single bookcase in the living room, and it was only half-way filled. That had surprised Morgan. He’d envisioned a place where every wall held a bookshelf filled to capacity with lofty, rare tomes. He’d asked Reid about it directly, and Reid, with absolutely no sense of inflated pride or intellectual arrogance, had told him, that no, he didn’t keep a lot of books because once he’d read them, he could recall their contents word for word, sometimes, down to the page numbers. 

Morgan took a deep breath, knocked on the door and waited. There was no answer from within and he knocked again. _This is insane._ He was about to turn around and go home when suddenly an inside light turned on and he heard someone moving towards the door. Not wishing to worry Spencer about who could be at his home at this late hour, he announced himself through the door. 

The door swiftly opened to reveal Spencer Reid standing barefoot in his cotton pajamas, looking for all the world like a sleepy child. Morgan cracked a dazzling smile at the sight of the man-boy. The younger man’s longish hair was tousled and his bangs tumbled down his forehead and nearly into one eye. With one hand, Reid pushed his hair to the side and the luminescent orbs of his hazel eyes widened. The lush, pink lips parted in surprise, transforming the sleepy, child-like features into a fey being of the night. 

“Derek!” Reid stood in the doorway, completely taken off guard until a sudden concern for the older man seized him. “Are you all right?” he asked anxiously.

Morgan simply stared at Reid, feeling odd as the blood rushed hotly through his veins. 

“Derek?”

“I’m fine,” Morgan hastened to assure. 

“What...what are you doing here at...,” Reid turned around and peered at the half-sized grandfather clock hanging on the wall, “12:30 in the morning?” he stammered. 

“May I come in?” Amused now, Morgan stood outside with his hands casually shoved in his jean pockets and did an exaggerated shiver from the night air. It was in fact a little chilly at that hour and Reid’s townhome looked warm and inviting.

Reid blushed and seemed to recover his social graces. “Of course.” He held the door open wide and let Morgan pass through.

Looking fully awake now, Reid offered to make coffee, which Morgan gratefully accepted. When the coffee was ready, Reid returned with two steaming cups on a small tray accompanied by two spoons and packets of cream and sugar. He set the tray down on the coffee table and took a seat next to Morgan where they sat in companionable silence for awhile, drinking their coffee.

Reid glanced at him every now and then, and Morgan knew his weariness had be showing through his casual veneer. 

Finally, Reid broke the silence when he cleared his throat. “You know, Derek, when I was little and I couldn’t sleep, my mom used to run a warm bath for me and scent it with plenty of lavender. She used to tell me that people in ancient times used its aromatic property for soothing restless children and tense adults. Of course, true lavender is found in the French and Mediterranean Alps, I doubt if that was what was in the stuff my mom used to get at the discount shopping center.” 

The younger man laughed low when he saw the expression on Morgan’s face. “Of course, I was never actually sure it wasn’t more the power of suggestion that made it work more than anything else.” Then his voice turned serious, “Sometimes it’s hard to know if we’re sure about something because it’s right, or if we’re sure because we believe more in the person who said it.”

Morgan discerned a deeper meaning to Reid’s words, and he gently settled his cup down upon the coffee table. “There are a lot of things in this world that I’m not sure of, and the older I get, the more I seem to question everything.” He took a deep breath and looked straight into Reid’s eyes, “There’s one thing I am sure about though.”

Reid swallowed nervously. “What’s that?”

“I think you know.”

“I prefer not to make any assumptions.”

“Fair enough.” Morgan considered his words for a moment. What he said right here and now could lead to major changes for both of them. His mouth grew dry as the Sahara and his heart rate increased until he was sure his companion could hear it. He reached for his cup once more and drank deeply of it, almost draining it of the hot beverage before he continued.

“I had a fantasy going in my head that the person I would fall in love with, want to be with above any other, would be a woman with all the right physical attributes, and a heart and mind to match. I wanted that so badly and I chased that dream...” He paused to look down. When his head came back up, his face was so transparent with the truth of what he was about to say. “I pursued that dream pretty relentlessly. Then my dream changed while I wasn’t looking.”

“I thought so,” Reid murmured softy. There was wonder in his voice, a suggestion that he knew what Morgan was going to say, yet still didn’t believe it.

The older man shook his head. “I’ve been pretty messed up for awhile. I was coming from a rough place. I was scared, embarrassed, angry. When I went away to college, I did everything in my power to deny that I was born a gay man. I had the perfect straight life - a black man who could get just about any woman into my bed.”

“But you were never satisfied.”

“No.” Morgan replied simply.

“I know how you feel.”

“What?” Morgan’s eyebrows raised in surprise.

“You hid your true sexuality behind an illusion. Me? I just hid.” 

Morgan was curious, “You and your mom seem to be pretty close, surely she knew about it, and supported you the best way she knew how?” 

Reid shrugged. “My mother was mentally ill for all of my teen years. Even though she could barely take care of me, I knew she loved me. She wouldn’t come into my world, but she allowed me into hers. The problem was, I couldn’t stay there.” Reid’s tone was matter-of-fact, but it didn’t quite disguise the pain of remembered childhood hurts. “Growing up being bullied, and with my mom being ill, I had to learn to deal with things on my own. When I discovered that I was homosexual, I accepted it, but I didn’t talk about it because it was just one more thing that made me different and a target for abuse.”

“Spencer, that was when you were a child. What about that thing you had with Lila last year?” Morgan was referring to Lila Archer, the Hollywood starlet Reid had had a brief, but dead-end fling with when he met her as a result of a case the BAU had been invited to help on. 

Reid’s face took on a slight flush as he looked away. “Lila was...,” he paused and fished around for the right description, “She was an ‘experiment’. She was beautiful, a star, and she liked me. It was okay for me to like her back for a while too. I mean, I was going back to my life in Virginia and she was staying in Hollywood. End of story.”

Strangely, Morgan did not feel completely reassured by the younger man’s words. Looking at Reid, he kept his tone casual and asked, “And you never think about what you might have had with Lila, or any other woman for that matter?”

“No.” There was finality in Reid’s quiet reply. 

Everything Morgan needed to know was in that simple word, ‘no’. Reid was sure and the older man believed him. Suddenly, there were no words for Morgan. What was there to say? With his warm brown eyes, he wordlessly drank in the sight of the slender man seated next to him. He felt heady and intoxicated by Reid’s rare beauty. Though there was room for at least one person to sit between them on the couch, to Morgan, Reid’s presence was overwhelming, his body seated too closely to his. Desire coursed hotly through him, lengthening and hardening his cock, and making his blood feel as though it was on fire. 

Morgan abruptly found himself sitting next to Reid with no gap between them. In a vague corner of his mind, he briefly wondered how that happened before he drew the slim body into an embrace and gently, oh so gently, captured Reid’s lips with his own. 

Morgan started his discovery of Reid’s mouth. He reveled in the velvety softness of Reid’s lips against his. The taste and feel of the younger man’s mouth was so good, so right. He plundered that delightful part of Reid’s anatomy with his lips and tongue, and Reid in his turn, gave as good as he got, moaning deep in Morgan’s mouth as the passion between them rose. 

For so long Morgan had yearned to know, with a kiss, the taste and feel of Reid - not just Reid the person, but Reid, the male. Now he was enjoying the sweetness of that mouth and the feeling of holding a masculine form in his arms that was so different and yet the same as kissing and holding a woman. 

Morgan found it altogether intoxicating.

The passionate kissing went on until breathless, Reid broke away. There was no mistaking Reid’s state of sexual arousal. His erection had caused his pajama pants to tent, and a dark spot to appear on the fabric at the tip.

Morgan groaned, but he didn’t try and pull Reid closer. Given the young man’s level of social awkwardness, he naturally assumed that the unique man who had captured his heart had little to no sexual experience whatsoever. “Baby, I want to make love to you so bad, but I don’t want to hurt you. We’ll go as slowly as you need to.”

A curious look passed over Reid’s face and he spoke carefully, “If you think you need to treat me with kid gloves, because I’ve never had sex before, Derek - don’t. I’m not a virgin.”

Morgan tried and failed to keep his face from showing his surprise at Reid’s revelation. With the exception of Lila Archer, who Morgan knew for a fact Reid had not had sex with, he’d never even known him to date or express a romantic interest in anyone else, male or female. The dark-skinned agent’s brilliant white teeth showed in a grin that pretty much communicated an amusing mixture of, ‘way-to-go, Spencer’, and ‘you’re-putting-me-on-right?’ 

Reid shrugged, suddenly looking uncomfortable. 

“I’m sorry, Spencer, I shouldn’t have assumed that you...well that -”

“It was in New Orleans,” Reid blurted out. 

Something in the air subtly shifted. _New Orleans again_. Sensing something lingering in the murkiness of places best left undisturbed, Morgan frowned. “What does New Orleans have to do with anything? You already explained to me what happened.” 

He paused while a new thought, shocking in its association with the man Morgan knew Reid to be, came to him. “Unless...,” his words trailed off as he stared at Reid incredulously. “No. No way. Spencer, please tell me that when you said you missed that plane to Galvestan because you were tripping over what Tobias did to you, you didn’t actually skip out and stay in New Orleans because you were too busy having sex with some stranger you picked up off the street?”

The younger man’s face paled slightly and he stood up from the couch, arms wrapped around his slender frame.

“It wasn’t like that, Derek. I met up with a friend - someone I’ve known from even before when I went through the FBI Academy. We ended up going through the Academy at the same time, but he dropped out and became a musician in New Orleans.”

_Thank God_. Morgan’s internal relief at learning that the man he loved had not indulged in highly risky behavior was real, but nearly drowned out by other feelings. Spencer had led him to believe he had been completely forthcoming concerning his actions surrounding the missed assignment. While the younger man hadn’t lied, his act of omission had been clear and deliberate. Morgan’s feeling of disappointment teetered dangerously on the edge of feelings of betrayal. 

Morgan felt another emotion jockeying for position within him too - a darker emotion that he didn’t particularly like. He wasn’t known for being a possessive, jealous lover, but then he’d never cared about anyone else in the way he did for Reid. With Reid, he’d dreamed about being granted the privilege of loving the younger man’s body and soul. It never occurred to him that someone else had been there first, kissing Reid, touching him, making love to him because it was what Reid had wanted, needed, and asked for.

Jealous is what the suave agent felt and he hated himself for his next words that came out, seemingly without his consent. “He put his hands on you?”

Reid blushed thinking about just where Ethan had put his hands - and his fingers, and his tongue. “That’s none of your business, Derek.”

There was utter silence. 

Then Morgan got up from the couch and went over to and stood behind Reid. Slowly he wrapped the tall, thin, frame in a loving embrace. He took a deep breath and spoke softly into the pale ear, “You’re right, Spencer. I’m sorry.”

When Morgan felt Reid’s body relax against his, he gently turned him to face him. The dark eyes that looked at Reid were soft and serious. He sighed, suddenly feeling the lateness of the hour. “It’s late, I better get back home.”

“You don’t have to go now,” Reid protested.

“I think it’s for the best.”

Morgan drew Reid to him once more and bestowed a chaste kiss upon the offered lips. Reid had other ideas, however, and he recaptured Morgan’s lips and tasted of their delights before letting go.

“Good night, Derek.”

“Good night, Spencer.”

Morgan put on his jacket and before either one could change the course of the evening, he opened the door and stepped through, gently closing it behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was supposed to post this yesterday but my computer required a new screen and motherboard. If I have anything nice to say about Dell is that at least they send a tech to your home ASAP to fix their crap. 
> 
> http://romanseartfanfic.com


	10. Chapter 10

Day six of the case started off early as the BAU members, one by one, began trickling into the office. By the time Morgan walked in, slightly bleary-eyed, he found that Reid had already beaten him in and was at his desk working. The younger agent, his face bearing a look of intense concentration, was listening again to the tape recording of Ellen Barnes’ interview. 

Rather than disturb him, Morgan went straight to his desk to log on to his computer. Then he went in search of a cup of coffee. When he returned, he stopped in front of Reid’s desk. “Hey, how’s it going?” he quietly inquired.

Reid switched off the recorder and looked up. “It’s not. But I did talk to Gideon this morning and he said he thinks he knows someone who may be able to help decipher Ellen’s words.”

“Really? That’s great - assuming that she _was_ actually trying to use real words to communicate something relevant.”

“She was, Derek. I know she was.” It was no arrogant boast, Morgan knew. It was a statement born of Reid’s sincerely held conviction. 

“So, who is this source?”

Reid’s eyes lit up and he turned his computer monitor so that Morgan could see the displayed webpage. “Dr. Alan Davidson at the Speech Analysis and Interpretation laboratory in Boston. I went to the webpage and checked it out. They have some of the most advanced programs in the nation and they’re conducting research in the area of computer speech analysis and interpretation. It’s really fascinating.”

Reid’s animation increased like a train picking up speed as he warmed to the topic that might lead to a break in the case. He clicked on the website and brought up an abstract. “See, I think that Dr. Davidson can adapt the newer strategy of attention-shift decoding to formulate word hypotheses that correctly identify the components of Ellen’s speech. Of course, speech and language processing constraints could very well give us competing word hypotheses that will leave us with no clue as to which is right.”

“I can’t say I know anything about attention-shift decoding strategies, but if this Dr. Davidson can figure out Ellen Barnes’ words, then I’m all for it. We need a break and we need it soon, or his latest victim is going to turn up dead.”

Morgan turned to leave before the younger man could launch into a detailed explanation of attention-shift decoding strategies. 

“Wait,” Reid said quickly. He lowered his voice when he spied Emily Prentiss entering the room. “Uhm...so how are you doing, Derek?”

Despite his own stress and lack of sleep, Reid was looking at him with tender concern. Derek basked under the regard of the warmth of those hazel eyes, and his heart melted at the shy inquiry. 

“I’m okay. How ‘bout yourself? Did you get any sleep?” He bit back the endearment that wanted to come out naturally. 

“Some.”

“You?” Reid asked.

“I’m afraid not.” Morgan rubbed his hand across his eyes in an unconscious gesture that had the effect of accentuating his weariness. 

“Looks like we needed a warm soak with lavender.” Reid’s face suddenly flushed red and he stammered, “I mean, by yourself, not as in, me and you together...uhm...unless of course you wanted to.”

It wasn’t often that Derek saw the young genius flustered. He grinned broadly followed by a good-natured chuckle. He turned to walk away, took a few steps, then stopped and turned around. “I’d like that,” he said before turning and walking away again. 

The words were spoken seriously, with no hint of teasing to water down the sincerity. As though secretly pleased, Reid’s face flushed again. The young man turned back to his computer, lowering his head so that his long hair fell like a silken curtain in front of his face. 

 

*******

Later that morning, the team assembled in the conference room to discuss the latest status on the case. The first to arrive, Morgan, accompanied by Reid, entered the room. They both took their seats around the table and waited in silence. Less than a minute later, Gideon and Hotchner strode in at the same time, conversing together in hushed, serious tones. 

There was no doubt in Morgan’s mind that these two men were the glue and fabric that held the BAU together. Always in synch intellectually, they greatly contrasted with each other when it came to temperament and physical appearance. Morgan knew that if Aaron Hotchner ran true to form, then he’d had even less sleep than he or Reid. Yet first thing in the morning, the BAU Unit Chief appeared in a perpetually crisp, tailored suit. The man never slouched, never got emotional. His handsome face showed no signs of weariness as he knew his and Reid’s did. It was as though by an act of will, Hotchner had the ability to refuse to concede that he was human and subject to weakness. 

On the other hand Gideon’s face, especially his eyes, were usually expressive. The inscrutable poker face he had perfected was reserved for dealing with serial killers, rapists, terrorists and the like. Among his colleagues, however, he was caring and willing to acknowledge human emotion. Unlike Hotchner who always wore well-made suits, the Senior Supervisory Special Agent favored casual slacks, cotton shirts, or comfortable sweaters. 

The two men looked up just as Jarrau walked in next. Her long, blond hair was swept back in a severe ponytail that did nothing to hide the fact that she too had been operating on little sleep these last few days. It reminded Morgan of how she’d looked when Reid was missing and in the hands of Tobias. 

Garcia and Prentiss were the last to arrive. They were talking together, heads inclined towards each other as they looked over the contents of a printout. Garcia appeared animated, punctuating her words with an occasional hand gesture. Garcia gave a quick, broad grin and took her seat when she saw the faces around the table staring curiously in her direction.

“Tell me you have some new information that will help us catch our UnSub,” Hotchner said, thus signaling the start of the briefing. 

Prentiss cleared her throat and began passing around copies of the print out. “That’s just what we believe we have this morning, courtesy of Garcia’s contacts over at the Consumer Product Safety Commission. As you know, the lab analysis identified the elements of the unique chemical compound used on the victims’ bodies. We’ve now identified where this compound is most likely found. Turns out it’s a fairly new formula for an industrial-use, cleaning solvent - ”

“Which the killer clearly chose for its highly corrosive properties,” Garcia grimly interjected.

“Right,” Prentiss affirmed before continuing. “Based on the mandated regulatory information the Commission gathers on chemical cleaning products, we were able to determine that there are exactly three companies that manufacture and distribute industrial cleaning solvents composed of the new chemical compound.”

The agents perused the printouts while Prentiss read off the names of the three companies. “All three of these companies, Industrial Cleaning Supplies, Chem-Clean Company, and Olympus Chemical Corporation, distribute their products to hospitals, schools, and manufacturing plants up and down the east coast. Chem-Clean goes as far west as Texas, the others, strictly east coast. Two of these companies use their own company trucks exclusively to distribute their produces, and the other has an outside contract with a trucking company. ” 

“That’s good work,” Hotchner complimented with his usual brevity. He stood up and folded his arms in the casual, yet authoritative way that was uniquely his. “It goes a long way in confirming our theory that our UnSub is a truck driver who travels up and down I-95 acquiring a new victim to replace the one he ultimately tortures to death. Now we know he most likely works for one of these companies.”

“We’re gonna have our work cut out for us if we think we'll catch this guy by asking the company staff to start looking through their employee records for someone who fits our profile,” Morgan noted. 

Garcia frowned and looked around before tentatively asking, “Why’s that?”

Reid spoke up, “Due to the constant, transient nature of his work, he’s probably been able to avoid the scrutiny of anyone who might be in contact with him on the job long enough to notice the normal physical symptoms that indicate he’s a serial killer on their payroll.”

“Reid, you can work up an additional geographical profile, but we still need to go through the employee files to at least try and identify some possibilities. The UnSub may not have had consistent contact with his employers or fellow employees, but somewhere there’s a person who knows that the UnSub suffers from the usual list of indicators ranging from ritualistic behavior, compulsivity, history of serious assaults, to hypersexuality, drug or alcohol abuse,” Gideon remarked.

Hotchner nodded his head in agreement. “We’ll divide up the companies between us and make arrangements to talk to the folks in personnel.”

The team assignments were made, and the meeting concluded. The team members disbanded and Morgan, who had been tasked to go to Chem-Clean Company in Newark, New Jersey, walked out of the conference room like the man on a mission that he was. 

Morgan wasn't the only one on a mission. So was Garcia. The buxom blond boldly intercepted him before he made it back to his desk. “Come into my den of iniquity,” she issued her invitation in her "you-know-you-are-on-this-Earth-to-do-my-bidding" voice. 

Morgan grinned, but shook his head. "Can't, Baby Girl. I need to get ready to get on the road." 

"This will just take a minute." Garcia wasn't taking no for an answer. She gently took Morgan by the arm and guided him towards her office. Morgan expected her to launch into a speech relating to some obscure, interesting information she'd gleaned with her computer expertise once they had reached her office. But she didn't. For a minute, he stood in puzzlement under Garcia's silent scrutiny. Suddenly, Garcia removed her cat-eyed glasses and smiled broadly. "I knew it!" was all she said.

Morgan frowned. "Knew what?"

"You and Dr. Reid."

Morgan's heart did a flip-flop. _Damn. How the hell does she know?_

"I'm right, aren't I? You and he _are_ together...as in a couple."

And Morgan, who could never lie to Garcia whom he loved as he did his own sisters, took a deep breath as made his admission. "Yes. We are, and if you tell anyone about it, I swear I'll will jack your computer up so bad you won't even be able to play solitaire on it."

Garcia smiled, a genuine smile of support and friendship. She lowered her voice, though they were the only two in the room. "I swear, I won't tell a soul.”

“How did you know?” Morgan was curious and more than a little perturbed. Though he trusted Garcia implicitly, he’d still wanted to keep the budding relationship exactly what it was - private.

Garcia grinned like a Cheshire cat. “Ah...my amazing powers of observation. Lots of things...like you looking at Dr. Reid in the same way I’ve seen you look a hundred times at beautiful women, and Dr. Reid looking at you in a way I’ve _never_ seen him do to anyone.”

“Oh, man...” Morgan groaned. 

“Derek..." she caught his attention before he turned to go. "I 'm really happy for the two of you. Just be careful with him, okay?"

Morgan, reading nothing but sincerity in his friend’s eyes, replied, "I will." He swiftly bent down and gave her a gentlemanly kiss on the cheek before exiting the room. 

Garcia, the BAU’s long-standing keeper of confidences, was left alone to bask in the joy over two beautiful friends finding love with each other. 

 

*******

 

_New Orleans_

Somewhere in a reeking pile of vomit and dirty clothes Ethan Stewart came to consciousness on the floor of his apartment. He had no idea what time it was, or how long he’d been there. It didn’t matter. Another day was just like the last and if the next one didn’t come, then that was all right with him too. 

He groaned and swore softly as he staggered up, shambled over to the bathroom and turned on the tap. He splashed cold water on his face and tried in vain to wash the sour stench out of his mouth. He shivered and looked at his ravaged visage in the mirror. Drops of water clung to the beard he knew he should have shaved long ago. But why bother? He no longer needed to look presentable while playing at the piano bar at the prestigious Silhouette Club. He no longer had a job there. 

He’d been fired two weeks ago and his life, or what remained of it, had become nothing more than a series of waking nightmares the day an unassuming envelope addressed to him had been put under his door. 

At first, he’d opened the envelope and pulled out the note with an air of amusement. He was used to gaining the attention of both men and women and some were not above using unconventional methods to contact him to try and set up dates. But when he’d pulled out the fine paper and deciphered the scrawled note inside, a deep, horror-filled fear reached up and grabbed him by the guts, working its way all the way up his throat. 

At first he was angry - sure that someone had chosen him to be the object of a sick prank. He didn’t know this person, never met him. Why was he claiming that he’d had unprotected sex with him in a backroom at the club?

Because he had. 

The name Kenneth White finally conjured up a tall man with broad shoulders, flowing dark hair, and piercing dark eyes. He’d come to him six months ago after one of his gigs and he’d found Kenneth extremely attractive and attentive. After his gig, the club had emptied out, but he’d stayed on with a drink and good conversation. Then they’d discreetly adjourned to the a little room that was located in the back. 

He was into Kenneth, Kenneth was into him, and before he knew it he was bent over a table, pants down and Kenneth was banging him with the strength and power of a locomotive. 

When his memory had returned, the full meaning of the note dawned in brilliant techno-color comprehension. 

Ethan had choked. AIDS. Kenneth claimed in his note that he had known for some time that he was HIV positive and that recently his status had changed to full-blown AIDS. He had remained silent out of guilt and fear but now that he was sober and dying, he wanted to fulfill his duty to tell the people with whom he’d had unprotected sex. 

Ethan’s response had been to pull a thick blanket of denial firmly around his head and shoulders before finally getting the test and the results that would change his world forever. He wasn’t HIV positive - he’d gone straight to full blown AIDS. He’d been sick and not even known it as he’d mistakenly attributed some of his symptoms to the effects of the increased abuse of alcohol and illegal drugs. 

At first he’d raged and ranted against Kenneth, both while awake and in his dreams, but these days his nightmares had acquired interchangeable faces. 

One face that appeared with ever increasing frequency was that of Spencer Reid. Spencer, who he had tried to help. Instead, he’d found himself on the road to hell paved by Spencer’s Dilaudid. Well, he’d managed to detour off that highway by going back to the tried and true - overindulgence in Jack Daniels. Jack took the edge off his cravings for heroin. Jack made him forget about loving Spencer. Jack _almost_ made him forget about raping Spencer. 

And when the booze no longer provided a sufficient high, the heroin called him and he went to it willingly. 

The morning after overindulgence in Jack and heroin made him not notice the fatigue and colds that seemed to plague him and sap his energy. Damn it! It hadn’t been his fault he’d reasoned. The fault lay elsewhere. Then he raged against Spencer for ever having contacted him. 

And Spencer didn’t know he needed to be tested, could even now be infected, dying just as he was. 

_Good_ , the vengeful voice had whispered. _You didn’t know, why should he?_ For a time he’d been content to take to the grave the knowledge of what he’d done and what it could mean to Spencer. But the same voice that had whispered the label “rapist” to Ethan, now whispered and even more cursed word: murderer. 

Through the fog of illness, drunkenness and despair, the essential part of Ethan’s soul that made him a good man and not an evil one still lived, though its flame had dimmed considerably. 

It was wrong.

It was wrong to withhold the information from Spencer, who had never intended for harm to come to him when he’d sought him out. Fate had dealt a cruel hand that day, but there would be no peace or satisfaction for him if, by holding out, he too condemned Spencer to certain death. 

He couldn’t stand to look at himself in the mirror any longer. Ethan turned away from the sight of so much deterioration. The blackness had nearly swallowed him whole, but there was still a glimmer of light left. There wasn’t much time left, he knew, but there was time enough to do the right thing. Spencer needed to be told the truth about what happened that night and he needed to be tested. 

Ethan staggered over to his bed, determined to enjoy it before he found it and himself out on the streets, evicted from the apartment he could no longer afford. His eyes closed, and as he drifted off to sleep he thought, _tomorrow I’ll call him...tomorrow._

*******

In a place like New Orleans, saints and sinners often lie down together. And sometimes - sometimes they were even one and the same. 

*******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://romanseartfanfic.com


	11. Chapter 11

Sugar Kane was in hell. Relentless, unmitigated hell. The battered young prostitute closed her eyes, but the tears she fought to keep inside seeped out anyway. She was terribly hungry and the pain of her empty stomach clenching angrily in its demand for food was almost worse than the soreness she felt at the repeated ways and times she’d been beaten and brutally violated. Rivulets of sweat ran down her body leaving the large, cotton shirt, the one item of clothing she’d been given to wear, soaked. At least she had water, though it was warm and served to her in a pet food dish. She whimpered in pain as she lay in the closed, dark space where she’d been tethered on a padlocked chain. 

She’d always feared the dark, ever since, she’d been a child when her big brother had locked her in an abandoned shed as a joke. She hated her dark prison, but not anymore. She no longer feared it for as long as she was here in the confines of the coffin-like, hot, noisy place, then she wasn’t up there with him. 

The monster who was disguised in the form of a man had come to get her many times. She’d come to dread and shake in fear whenever, after hours on the road, the vehicle slowed then stopped, leaving her body bereft of the strangely comforting, constant engine vibration and forward motion. As the vehicle slowed, the noise level would die down until there was sudden silence when the monster cut the engine off. 

Then she’d hear the sound of heavy-booted footsteps approaching and the torture would begin. She was hearing that sound now. Sugar bit her lip until the blood ran down her chin. Suddenly something above her shifted and then light flooded the small space when the man removed the cover where she lay. She blinked her eyes rapidly and moaned in fear at the sight that greeted her. 

The man had already loosened his pants and freed the enormous weapon that would soon ravish every opening she had. The monster wasn’t content just to rape her, for she could have born that with some degree of stoicism. No, he held in his hand a leather belt which she knew would be used to beat her senseless. Afterwards, he would take his hands and run them down the raised welts and broken skin before raping her. 

The man smiled at her and the grin pasted on the short-haired, baby-faced man was one of utter depravity. Sugar closed her eyes and prayed for the strength to survive. 

 

******

The clock hands were inching their way with great reluctance past the vestiges of late afternoon, but the lone occupant of the BAU bullpen paid the lateness of the hour no heed. Reid was contemplating a fairly straight-forward problem, made frustratingly difficult by the sheer pressing urgency of it: how to use the geographic profile, along with any new information his colleagues would bring back to eliminate from the list of three companies, the ones where the UNSUB was most likely not employed.

Prentiss had taken a commercial flight down to Wilmington, North Carolina where Industrial Cleaning Supplies was located. Because it was the closest company to Quantico, Gideon had taken on the task of driving up to Landover, Maryland to investigate Olympus Chemical Corporation. So far, Reid had yet to hear from Prentiss, Gideon, or Morgan and he was growing restless. 

Just then Reid’s phone rang and the young man practically leaped to answer it. It was Morgan calling from New Jersey where he’d just wrapped up his time talking to the individuals in the personnel department at Chem-Clean Company. 

Morgan began to relay what he’d discovered while Reid held the phone receiver between his ear and shoulder, and with the other hand, scribbled quickly on a pad with a pen. When he was done, there were three names on the paper, two with asterisks by them to indicate only weak correlations to the profile, and one with a question mark by it. Three minutes later, Morgan finished talking and Reid reluctantly prepared to hang up. “Thanks for the information, Derek.” There was a shy pause and then he added, “Have a safe trip back.” Without waiting for a response, Reid hung up the receiver, having concluded an interesting exchange of information with the older agent. 

For a moment, Reid sat still at his desk, lost in thought. Gradually, a dreamy, elsewhere expression graced his face, replacing the more focused, contemplative one. His thoughts, uncharacteristically, were no longer on the case, but rather centered around a certain image of a man his mind had conjured up. A hard muscled body, skin smooth like chocolate, a dazzling smile and warm brown eyes alight with intelligence and good will all belonging to Derek Morgan were a visionary feast for his imagination that made his body tingle, and his senses heady. 

So lost in the pleasant daydream was he that he failed to notice that Garcia had come up and was now standing in front of his desk calling his name. 

“Spencer!”

The young man startled in his chair and Garcia hid her smile when she saw his hazel eyes widened in surprise.

“Uh, Garcia. Hey, what can I do for you?” Reid stammered slightly, trying, but failing to hide the fact that she’d obviously caught him daydreaming. 

Garcia snagged a chair, plopped down next to Reid and waved a piece of paper before him. “Ask not what you can do for me. This is all about what I, and the lab geeks, can do for you.”

Reid looked curious, “What can you do for me, Garcia?”

“I was checking out the respective websites for the three cleaning companies looking for news press releases. Not surprisingly, they all had at least one article touting the superiority of their industrial-strength solvents using the new chemical compound. I also learned a lot about phthalates.”

“Phthalates? What does a vinyl softening agent have to do with cleaning solvents?” Reid asked with perfect recall of something he’d read at the age of nine. 

“Ah ha,” Garcia’s eyes lit up. “Phthalates are not just used for that. They are also used to lengthen the duration of scents used in all kinds of products. Although generally considered to be safe, some fairly new scientific research has suggested otherwise. Did you know that there is a brand-new combination of compounds to make what’s called a ‘Super Phthalate’? Well, yours truly got the idea to call down to the folks in laboratory analysis and ask if any trace elements of this Super Phthalate was found on any of the victims.”

By now the young woman was practically vibrating with suppressed excitement. “What did they say?” Reid asked curiously. 

“Check this out - and this is hot off the Bunsen burner so to speak,” Garcia quipped. 

Reid accepted then perused the paper Garcia offered. On it was a chart containing the names of the three cleaning chemical companies. Also listed were the names of the cleaning products they manufactured which contained the unique chemical composition, used by the UNSUB to strip the flesh from the bodies.

Garcia pointed to a tongue-twister of a word. 

“What is it?” Reid asked.

“It’s the residual components of the Super Phthalate used to preserve the unique scent of the cleaning solution.” Garcia grinned triumphantly, completely ignoring Reid’s puzzled look.

“So tell me, Garcia. Why do I want to know this?”

“Becaauuuse -,” Garcia stretched the word out for dramatic effect. “One of these three is not like the others,” she finished in a lightly exaggerated, sing-song voice before resuming a normal tone. “According to these new comparison lab results, there are three companies that use this new chemical formula to manufacture the cleaning product the creep used to destroy the bodies. However, Olympus Chemical Corporation is the only one with a product containing the trace elements of this compound,” Garcia pointed once again to the word.

“Really?” Reid looked excited as he examined the printout again. “That’s really great, Garcia. Thank you.”

Garcia shrugged humbly, “You’re welcome, but I’m really just the messenger.” She grinned sheepishly. “Besides, I got a D in my high school chemistry class.” Garcia stood up to return to her office.

Just then the phone rang. It was Agent Emily Prentiss calling Reid to relay her findings thus far at the North Carolina-based company. Garcia excused herself while Reid and Prentiss commenced talking. The young woman was her usual matter-of-fact, professional self, but she sounded tired. “Long day?” Reid inquired.

“You could say that. I‘ve looked at so many records in personnel that my eyes are starting to cross. It was worth it though because unless there’s some other reason why we shouldn’t, I think we can eliminate Industrial Cleaning Supplies as our UNSUB’s employer.”

“I think you’re right, Emily, but what did you find out?”

If Prentiss was surprised by Reid’s statement, she did nothing to indicate it. Instead she proceeded to share her findings saying, “I found out that due to a labor strike, none of Industrial Cleaning Supplies’ truck drivers were on the road, either the week before, or after Ellen Barnes escaped capture near the outskirts of Richmond.” 

Today’s work had finally yielded some substantial clues to the UNSUB’s identity that the BAU so badly needed. It was about time. With a much welcomed and strong sense that time was running out for the UNSUB, Reid quickly brought the dark-haired woman up to speed on the latest developments before wrapping up the conversation and hanging up. 

Reid glanced up at the office clock. He didn’t expect Gideon to phone him, but he believed that any time now the senior agent should be coming through the doors since the older man had not traveled far. Sure enough, ten minutes later at 6:30PM, Gideon walked into his office. 

The older man wasn’t there long before he emerged and went over and entered Hotchner’s office. Not long afterwards, Spencer Reid found himself heading over there as well, papers in hand, ready to brief his superiors. He stood at the door and politely knocked before entering. 

Agent Hotchner had evidently been working through a stack of folders, but he welcomed him in and gestured for Reid to take the seat in the chair next to Gideon. He sat down and Gideon began speaking. Reid glanced over at him, trying to read the older man, but it was difficult. The soft-spoken man displayed his customary calm demeanor as he quickly briefed Hotchner and Reid on the results of his investigation. “Olympus employs eight drivers. I interviewed the three who were in town, but the others were making deliveries in various places. According to the files, none of the drivers have arrest records, or had any red trouble flags in their personnel records. They seem to be well-liked within the company. Most are married and have children.” 

The troubled frown that crossed Reid’s face did not go unnoticed by his superiors. “What is it, Reid?” Hotchner asked.

Reid wasted no time in getting to the point. “I believe we have enough information to identify for which company the UNSUB works.” 

Hotchner’s intense gaze looked out from a face that appeared even more focused and grim than usual. It was an oft heard comment that Hotchner’s eyes seemed to bore right through a person in a rather disconcerting manner, as if with the power of his gaze alone he could extract information from an individual’s brain. At that moment that penetrating gaze was fixed on Reid. Rather than squirm under it as he’d seen others who didn’t know Agent Hotchner do, the young agent looked back calmly. “What is your conclusion?” Hotchner asked.

“I believe the UNSUB is a trucker working for Olympus Chemical Corporation.” Reid handed over the printout Garcia had given him and began his explanation of the significance of the trace elements of Super Phthalates found on the victims’ remains.

“I’ve also constructed a geographic profile based on a combination of old and new information that we’ve acquired such as estimated timeframes the victims were disposed of, and the direction the UNSUB was most likely driving based on where the victims were dumped in relation to the location of the truck stops.”

The young man shifted in his chair, his elegant, long-fingered hands absently rustling the written papers containing his notes, a map and graph. “Aside from the significance of the Super Phthalates, based on what Derek told me, there is another reason we can eliminate Chem-Clean company.”

“Why?” Gideon asked.

“It’s a small company that got started in late 2006 and until two months ago, only had contracts with clients as far north as Connecticut and as far south as Maryland. We can also eliminate Industrial Cleaning Supplies because according to Emily, due to a strike, none of their truck drivers were making deliveries during the time Ellen Barnes managed to get away in Richmond.”

“We need a list of viable suspects,” Hotchner said. “We know we have murder victim dump sites that are close to three years old. How many of the Olympus truck drivers does that exclude because they’ve been employed there for fewer than three years, Jason?” Hotchner asked.

Jason Gideon glanced through his notes taken from the personnel records. His brow wrinkled into a troubled expression. “None.”

Reid turned large eyes on the older man. “Are you sure?” he asked, instantly regretting the question as Hotch’s gaze slid his way in a silent, subtle rebuke.

Gideon’s gentle eyes regarded Reid. “I’m sure,” the senior agent replied mildly. 

Hotchner pressed on with singular intensity. “All right, let’s refocus on the profile and on the victimology. What is it we know about sexual-sadists?”

Gideon answered in a sure, measured tone: “He’s a person who’s developed a deep-seated anger toward women. In his personal life, he generally feels powerless. The exception is when he uses his anger in the service of sexual gratification. His aggression is thus eroticized so that inflicting torment and suffering upon his victims is the only way for him to attain orgasm.”

At Gideon’s words the haunting image of Ellen Barnes, broken and starved arose unbidden in Reid’s mind. He tried and failed to shake free of it. “Speaking of victims, as a child he was probably victimized through some sort of habitual abuse with a definite sexual component to it. Most likely either his mother or another female who raised him was directly involved in the abuse because of her own perversions, or she failed to protect him from the abuse from a third party. Victimology is critical in this case because the object of his original hatred is really the one he’s punishing.” 

Hotchner nodded his head. “Reid, take the list of names down to Garcia and see what kind of relevant information she can find on them. Somewhere there’s a record of family involvement in social services, the court system...something. The mother may have been a prostitute with a criminal history.”

Reid acknowledged the order and quickly rose to head down to Garcia’s office with the list of Olympus driver names. He was making his way through the nearly deserted bullpen when he heard JJ Jarrau call his name. He stopped and waited for the attractive woman to catch up to him. “Hey, somebody must really want to talk to you, and only you,” she said. JJ’s body language was relaxed, but her eyes were communicating something else. Something about the call appeared to have spooked his friend. 

As unlikely as it was, Reid’s mind immediately flashed to the UNSUB before discarding the thought. “What happened?” he asked.

“When you were in Hotch’s office your phone rang. The call went into your voicemail but I don’t think the person left a message because the phone immediately rang again. The phone rang a third time, and I’m sorry, I just couldn’t stand to hear it ring so I picked up your line,” JJ explained.

Reid shrugged. “That’s okay, JJ, but who was it?”

“The person didn’t say anything at first, and when I went to check the number   
display on the phone, the screen showed it as unknown.  
I almost hung up before I heard a man’s voice ask for you.” The young woman looked as though she thought that was exactly what she should have done and regretted not doing it.

“The guy sounded…drunk, or high, I don’t know - but when I asked for his name and number he just fell apart. He just kept saying that he wanted to talk to you and that it was important. He started crying and saying how sorry he was. Before I could come and get you, he hung up. Do have any idea of who it could be?” 

Reid looked baffled. “No, honestly, I don’t. He asked for me and said it was important? Were those his exact words?”

JJ shook her head and appeared reluctant to answer. “No. What he said was that it was a matter of life and death.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http: //romanseartfanfic.com


	12. Chapter 12

It was well past 6:30 pm and the modest gray building which served as headquarters for Olympus Chemical Corporation appeared nearly deserted. Inside, the ringing phones had gone blessedly silent, the computer monitors were darkened, and cubicles were unoccupied. The small cadre of administrative staff had made the evening exodus a half an hour ago. Individually or in chatting groups of two or three, the employees had filed out of their functional furniture equipped cubicles, walked through the double glass doors, and out past the no-fuss landscaping on their way to their respective vehicles. 

Only one office was still occupied. The largest office, the one that managed to retain a homey look despite boasting twin, large, mahogany desks with leather-bound chairs and matching burgundy leather couch, belonged to Vern and Sylvia Anne Kruegar, joint owners of Olympus Chemical. 

Sixty-six-year-old Sylvia Kruegar placed the small-framed photograph she’d been staring at, face down on the desk. She pushed back her chair and stood up wearily. Absently, she ran a wrinkled hand through her graying, bouffant hair-do, and breathed a tired sigh of relief through her dentured mouth. 

The woman began grumbling to herself as was her habit, - and a finely-tuned one at that it was as her husband Vern liked to remind her. The old refrain, that she and Vern, her nearly sixty-eight-year old husband, should have sold the business long ago, was handy at the tip of her tongue and oft-used. After today’s events, she was more inclined than ever to wallow in the thought. 

So she did.

Even now she couldn’t shake the very bad feeling that had settled over her with the unexpected arrival of the FED earlier. She wondered why she and Vern shouldn’t just sell the business and take off to some hidden Caribbean retirement locale. After all, they’d taken the steady, provisional business that Vern had inherited from his father and dragged it kicking and screaming into the Twenty-First Century through modernized production methods, revamped research and development department, and solid marketing and distribution methods. 

They were turning a profit, but unfortunately, the business still had a lot of outstanding debt they needed to retire first before they could make that lucrative sale that would get them out from beneath the business for good.

And then there was Danny to consider. Her lips turned down in a tight-lipped expression whenever the couple’s forty-six-year-old son came to mind. Over the years Danny had become more and more, socially speaking, the round peg trying to fit into a square hole. Slow to learn, overly aggressive, dysfunctional, anti-social. She’d heard those terms applied to her son when he was a teenager - and worse, but none of it was true. None of the uppity counselors and bogus shrinks encountered later in Danny’s life knew what she and Vern did: that Danny was a good boy, and just couldn’t help the ‘oddities’ of his personality that had gotten him fired from one regular job after another, and evicted from his earlier residences. People just didn’t understand him as she did. The problem was theirs, not her boy’s. 

Danny earned money, not a lot, but a sufficient amount to keep him out of the soup kitchen lines and with a permanent roof over his head. For Sylvie and Vern, there was a lot less hassle involved in supporting him by giving him an ‘off-the-books’ job as a delivery driver in the company his parents happened to own. Since he wasn’t a bona-fide, documented employee, he had little interaction with the legitimate employees. Being paid ‘under the table’ was advantageous to Danny in other ways as well. All of his income was tax-free. 

The fact that the arrangement was illegal didn’t make it any less efficacious for keeping Danny reasonably self-sufficient and still under his parents’ protection. 

He lived alone in his vintage-era motor home. When he wasn’t out on the road on his delivery routes, it was parked at the back end of their property. That motor home was also his little piece of independence bought and paid for with the currency of guilt for past parental failures mixed with a twisted sense of duty. Without his parent’s help, Danny would be homeless, for he was socially and emotionally too ill-equipped to be left to his own devices. 

Conveniently, Sylvie had only vague memories of precisely why that was. The summer of ‘65 remained a blurred canvas of past indulgences in excess hard-core drugs and experimental sex, painted over with a wide brush dipped in thinner. 

Back then she’d been emotionally reeling and self-medicating to get through a bad time in her life. In response, Sylvie’s friends had descended, bringing over their free-flowing booze, drugs and psychedelic music in a well-intentioned effort to help her over her troubles. Sylvie took to the cure in a way not intended and after a while there was no money left for a bag of corn chips let alone booze and drugs. 

The friends left to seek out someone else who had both troubles _and_ money to finance the cure. Then people with strangers’ faces came and did not leave. The drugs and booze flowed once again and this time, the men who occupied her bed did not have names. Not that she would have had the presence of mind to ask. 

Every now and then, a set of wide blue eyes showing terror in them penetrated through the nebulous mental fog to prick her conscience and remind her that the child being passed around among her new “friends” like a sexual party favor, belonged to her. 

She did however, remember with bitter clarity now how the descent into hell had all started, how one day that summer Vern discovered that he was too young at his age to be saddled with a needy wife and a snot-nosed kid. He’d stood in their little cramped living room, stringy long hair tied back, and his a duffel bag flung over his shoulder, mouthing platitudes before taking off. Bereft of her anchor, she‘d been left with a stack of bills, a young child, and a habit that demanded care and feeding.

By the time Vern had come to his senses and returned some six months later, to salvage what remained of his family, it was to find a ghost of a child and a wife so perpetually strung-out that she hardly recognized him. 

The road towards respectability between there and the present had been long and difficult, full of secrets and things covered over and never discussed in the light of day. While Sylvie managed to kick her habit and get herself together, the child, Danny, had not been so lucky. His parents, both desperate to put the past behind them and embrace the traditional, conservative lifestyle Vern’s parents demanded, gifted themselves with the ultimate delusion: that Danny‘s new, peculiar emotionally detached personality, and his interests involving sexual acting out and butchery of small animals, would go away in time.

But the boy that emerged from that experience was one who was destined to never again be the boy he was intended to be as he found himself involved in one difficulty after another. Even as he grew more emotionally detached, and became a social outcast among his peers, he was able to fly beneath the radar and escape the notice of most of his teachers. They’d found that life was a whole lot easier if they just left the odd boy alone, rather than deal with his difficult and overly-protective parents. From time to time he’d been seen by some of the ever-changing staff of under-qualified school counselors, but the depth of his emotional and mental illness remained largely undetected by anyone who could have called attention to it.

Sylvia sighed and looked at the clock again, anxious for Vern to come back from the factory so they could depart the building together. When the last employee had finally gathered up their personal belongings and punched out, only she and Vern had remained to lock up the main office, leaving the adjacent large plant to continue operating through the night with the evening shift crew.

It had been an unnerving day with the unexpected arrival of the Fed. Sylvia wasn’t so old that she couldn‘t appreciate a good-looking, distinguished man, but this particular FBI agent, an Agent Jason Gideon with his deceptively soft brown eyes and soft-spoken manner, had been poking around in the driver employee records and asking all kinds of unnerving questions - something about a crazed killer who loved to beat, rape, and starve women.

She’d been appropriately appalled as to the reason for agent’s visit but still, that did not keep her from demanding to know more of the gruesome particulars first. Agent Gideon reluctantly indulged her and in the end, even her jaded heart shivered with dread and sympathy when she’d heard his brief but graphic elucidation. 

When the FBI agent stated that he believed this homicidal, sexual-sadist was a trucker working for a chemical cleaning company, Sylvia had breathed a sigh of relief then snorted dismissively - what did that have to do with their company? She knew every one of her drivers, hard-working men who did their jobs. And why would the Fed believe that they would even hire a depraved killer, capable of enjoying acts of sexual brutality against women anyway? 

Consistent with her deeply entrenched state of denial, it never once crossed her mind that the described sexual sadist was her Danny, the son her negligence had unknowingly efficiently shaped into a monster. 

 

*******

The red apple charms adorning Penelope Garcia’s bracelet swung wildly and clinked together in a mad dance as, with the power of a keystroke, she began running the name, David Lewis through the system. Lewis was the last name on the list she’d been given of Olympus Chemical Corporation truck drivers. One by one she’d diligently run the others through and come up with nothing more interesting than one driver who’d received a bad conduct discharge from the Army back in 1980, and another who’d been through bankruptcy court in 1994. 

“Please be something there, please be something there,” the analyst muttered under her breath. Always professional, but never detached, Garcia’s heart was fraught with anxiety for the woman she knew was being held captive by the violent, sexual-sadist. She’d seen the sad photos of the victims’ decomposed bodies, but those were nothing compared to the stomach-churning photos of Ellen Barnes. 

Garcia’s fertile imagination sometimes caused her to visualize the brutalized woman’s face peering back at her from her computer monitor, like a spectral reminder that there was another woman who’d been enslaved in her place; another woman suffering helplessly in a cold, fearful place. The imagined visual reminder did not unnerve her as much as it did heighten Garcia’s natural empathy. She let that spur her on in the quiet space that was her domain within the BAU. 

Garcia was determined to exhaust every computer skill and resource she had for finding and extracting information in order to help save the life of the current victim. So far though, she’d come up empty. She dreaded going back up the stairs and telling Agent Hotchner that she’d found nothing that would make any of the drivers even a remotely a, ‘person of interest.’ 

Suddenly, Garcia’s eyes widened and the fingers of her left hand tapped the desk in a staccato beat. “And maybe I don’t have to, ” she said, her voice betraying the spark of hope animating her. Something in the return results on David Lewis had caught her eye and she began reading, her eyes scanning the information on the monitor quickly. David Lewis had a 1999 conviction on an assault and battery charge. Intrigued by the details, she pulled the thread on the tantalizing piece of information to delve deeper, uncovering other linked records that revealed even more information on David Lewis. Garcia read on and then her mouth dropped open. “Bingo, you sick son of a bitch!”

Garcia couldn’t hit the print button fast enough. 

 

********

It was late by the time Reid turned the key to the door of his brownstone, opened the door, and entered his quiet sanctuary. It was later still when he wearily slid between the cool, clean sheets on his bed, the mysterious phone message having long since been forgotten amidst the urgency of the current case. 

Tired as he was, he did not immediately fall asleep, but lay on his back, hands folded behind his head looking up. The shadows cast by the leaves on the big oak tree outside his window danced in random patterns on the ceiling, but the calming effect they usually had on him was lost this time. 

There was a struggle going on inside of him, one that he was loath to acknowledge to anyone, even himself. Every day Cynthia Moore, aka Sugar Kane, remained in the hands of the UnSub, meant she was enduring horrific, humiliating, painful abuse. Of that, he had no doubt. Like Garcia and his other colleagues, that surety was fuelling on his passion to use everything in his power to find the UnSub and save the young woman’s life. 

The BAU was united in a common purpose, but Reid was alone in having to contend with the insidious effects the case was having on him mentally.   
He thought he’d vanquished the psychological demons left over from the trauma of being kidnapped and tortured by Tobias. True, initiating a relationship with Derek Morgan had gone a long way in relegating the memories of being terrorized, of being beaten and pumped with drugs, to a deep place far removed from his current life. But to his dismay, lately, he was finding it harder to quell the clinging tendrils of emotional anxiety. 

The stress of the current case was bringing to life the memories of his own past trauma. With every passing hour that Cynthia remained captive, he fought an internal battle to remain cool, professionally detached. There were times that the fear crept up on him, catching him unawares, making him feel as though it was his own life he was fighting to save, waiting in vain for a rescue that was taking too long. 

Reid rolled on to his side and tried to find a more comfortable position to fall asleep, but his active mind would not let him. Mentally, he was back at the BAU, going over the information Garcia had culled from her seemingly infinite resources about driver, David Lewis. 

Garcia had certainly uncovered some disturbing things in the man’s background to indicate that he could be a viable suspect, and given the lack of hits on any of the other names, he was clearly the one red flag waving. But he’d had his doubts though and had not hesitated to point out that the particular details were not consistent enough to infer a sexual-sadist profile. 

Reid closed his eyes and slipped into a memory of the office conversation: 

_The sudden appearance of Garcia in the BAU conference room doorway yanked Reid from his almost hypnotic contemplation of the graphic crime scene photos. Within each photograph lay a sad story of helplessness and loss, of victims who had drunk fully from the cup of terror and not survived the experience. He had tasted but a sip from a similar cup, but still, the aftertaste lingered on in occasional nightmares and now this - a waking anxiety that he could not escape. Grateful for the interruption, his relief at being extracted from the hold the gruesome montage had on him was a thing keenly felt._

_Garcia had a positively driven look on her face and she was holding another set of papers in hand. “I’ve got something!” the blonde young woman announced. For the briefest of moments, she looked curiously at Reid, to the high-tech wall screen, and back. Her bright eyes conveyed questioning concern but she made no comment. For that too, Reid was grateful._

_Garcia continued on to Hotchner’s office. Reid practically shot out of his chair and followed her inside. He found Hotchner at his desk with Jason Gideon still occupying the same chair in front of it as he’d been earlier. Both men immediately gave the analyst their full attention as Reid took a seat and waited for Garcia’s report._

_“What is it, Garcia?” Hotchner asked calmly._

_“David Lewis.” Garcia placed the papers containing the information down on his desk. “Everyone else on the list was perfectly clean, perfectly boring. Lewis was the last name on the list and looking pretty darn unremarkable. That is until I found a conviction for assault and battery on a prostitute at the far too young age of 18. Get this - after he’d had sex with the woman and she was asleep in a motel room, he gave her a parting gift. The bastard left a hot iron on her stomach.” Garcia grimaced. “I had to go back a ways - well, just short of hell and back, but what I found was this: David grew up in a home with three younger brothers, an extremely violent and abusive father, and a mother who was too beaten down herself to protect her kids from dad. When David was just 13 he witnessed his father beat his mother to death.”_

_Reid frowned. “The sexual torture aspects of the crimes are far more indicative of an individual with a profound hatred and rage against a female abuser. An adult male abuser and an adult female victim run counter to the profile.”_

_Gideon shrugged slightly. “The rage could simply be displaced. A mother who couldn’t or wouldn’t stop the abuse...”_

_“It’s possible,” Reid said slowly after a moment, though there was little conviction in the concession._

_Hotchner got up from his chair. “So far, it’s the best lead we have. We need to find David Lewis and bring him in for questioning.”_

_*******_

_Somewhere along the vast East Coast, a truck driven by David Lewis was eating up the asphalt of I-95. But where? Where in that stretch was he and did he hold captive a battered woman, barely clinging to life?_

 

*******

Reid’s mind turned restlessly and his body followed. His thoughts turned to the man whose presence made him feel alive and his heart completely enchanted. His hand snaked out towards the phone on his nightstand, but he suddenly pulled it back, aborting its self-appointed mission. No, it wasn’t a good idea to call Derek right now. He’d not seen him since Derek had left to drive up to New Jersey. 

On his way back to Virginia, Derek had called him on the road. At that hour he‘d already been caught up in an annoying sequence of rush hour traffic, occasional delays caused by an assortment of fender benders, and one serious collision resulting in a tedious 12-mile backup. If the older man had only recently returned home from the long drive, then he’d no doubt fallen into an exhausted sleep. At least one of them should get some rest.

His tired mind finally ceased all thoughts about the case as lassitude gradually swelled and swept him out to a place of blessed dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to thank every reader who Kudo'd the story. It's very kind of you and have no doubt, appreciated!  
> http://romanseartfanfic.com


	13. Chapter 13

On day seven, the BAU members claimed their seats around the conference room table, ready for the morning briefing. Morgan’s gaze casually swept around the room. Same room, same steaming cups of coffee, same intense, weary faces, but this time there was an almost tangible difference in the air, an undercurrent of excitement for the hope that today’s briefing just might herald the beginning of the end of the UnSub’s gruesome spree. 

When Morgan’s eyes came to Reid, he let his gaze linger on the refreshing sight of his lover. At the same instant, Reid looked up to meet his eyes. The younger man’s face lost some of its intensity and he gifted Morgan with a subtle smile. 

His lover. Despite the total inappropriateness of the setting, Morgan found himself turning the phrase over in his mind, examining it curiously as he would a clue to any mystery. True, he’d yet to hold that slim body in his arms and make love to it as he longed to do, but soon - soon he knew he would revel in the sight and feel of the slender man writhing in ecstasy in his arms. He would use his lips as an instrument to draw out Reid’s moans and whimpers. He vowed he would unleash all the passion he believed Reid kept deep inside, no matter what the younger man had claimed regarding his experience with sex. This very night, if possible. But with or without the longed-for act of intimacy, Morgan’s inner smile was for the pleasure he felt at discovering that he was entirely comfortable with calling himself Reid’s lover. 

The sound of Aaron Hotchner’s voice refocused Morgan’s attention to matters at hand. The dark-haired Unit Chief stood on one side of the wall monitor, impeccable as ever in a grey suit. J.J. Jareau stood on the other side of the monitor, remote control in hand. “We’ve identified a person of interest in David Lewis, a truck driver at Olympus Chemical Corporation,” Hotchner began as Jareau brought up a photograph of the man on the monitor with one click of the remote. 

Morgan examined the Caucasian face staring out at him. David Lewis was apparently a man in his mid to late forties, craggy faced, with salt and pepper short hair. Morgan studied the dark eyes, set too closely together. Were those the eyes of a sexual-sadist who had ended the lives of several women with a great deal of brutality? He could detect no obvious sign of a malevolent heart just beyond those windows. Morgan concluded that there was nothing particularly noteworthy about the man. Not that there always was. In fact, in the BAU’s experience, most UnSubs looked remarkably unremarkable. 

“In the absence of any other Olympus drivers who have factors fitting the profile, David Lewis’ violent past and abusive home life, coupled with a conviction for a sadistic act on a prostitute when he was 18 make him the first viable possibility we’ve been able to identify. At this point we can do nothing more than question him and obtain consent to search his truck, but we urgently need to locate him first,” Hotchner concluded.

Jareau stepped in, saying, “Olympus corporate offices don’t open until 9:00 am, otherwise we‘d be able to find out exactly where Lewis is based on his delivery schedule. However, with Garcia’s help we’ve been able to pinpoint where and when his corporate credit card was last used.”

“That would be the Laz-e-Days Inn, the lovely one-star accommodation just off of I-95 at Smithfield, Virginia at 2 am this morning,” Garcia offered with her unique brand of sarcasm.

“Right,” Jareau replied. She quirked an eyebrow in Garcia’s direction, but didn’t miss a beat with her serious demeanor. 

Morgan gave Garcia a questioning look. “Don’t most of these truckers have some pretty tricked-out sleeping accommodations in their truck cabs? Why would he pay money for a seedy motel room?”

“Good question,” Garcia responded in the tone that meant she darn well knew the answer. “He was there for just under two hours - probably with a prostitute since that particular area is known as a working girls’ hang out.”

Prentiss looked troubled. “But if he’s our UnSub and he has Sugar - I mean, Cynthia Moore, then why does he need another prostitute, and why rent a motel room?”

“He wouldn’t,” Morgan responded instantly, his voice grim. “He wouldn’t need a prostitute unless Cynthia is already dead.” 

The answer hung in the air like a damp cloud until Reid pushed his long hair back behind his ear and answered softly, “He would if he’s not the UnSub.”

Hotchner and Gideon exchanged glances, both silently acknowledging the possibility. Suddenly, and for the first time, Morgan noticed the   
imperturbable, reserved Unit Chief looking very weary, perhaps at the prospect that David Lewis might not turn out to be the UnSub, and thus they were pursuing him as an exercise in futility. In reality, Hotchner had gotten little rest as he’d had to convince a cantankerous judge to issue   
a warrant to hold David Lewis for questioning. Morgan found the visual evidence of Hotchner’s susceptibility to human frailties like weariness, oddly comforting.

Agent Jareau smoothly continued with her portion of the briefing. “I’ve been in contact with the North Carolina and Virginia State Highway patrol. They’ve formed that he’s wanted for questioning only. I also faxed over Lewis’ photograph as well as the license plate number of his truck. Right now we won’t know which direction he’s traveling for sure until we talk to someone at Olympus Chemical Corporation. Unfortunately, their offices don’t open for another three hours; however, we do have a list of possible locations where he may be headed and I’ve marked all of the rest stops in either direction. The young blonde began handing out the lists to her colleagues. 

Once the lists were distributed, Jareau clicked the remote to display a split-screen view of I-95 running through Virginia and North Carolina. 

All eyes focused on the map. 

Gideon got up and walked over to the monitor. His reading glasses perched on the edge of his nose, the older agent paused in silent study. Finally, he turned around saying, “Most of that stretch of I-95 has a speed limit of 65-miles per hour. We have his last known location and factoring in the average trucker’s well-known tendency for speeding, this distance is likely how far south or north he could have driven.” Gideon used his finger to delineate the area. 

Hotchner’s hawk-like gaze took in the map of Virginia and North Carolina as he performed some quick mental calculations. Then turning to Gideon, and speaking in a low, measured tone said, “Jason, I’d like you and Prentiss to fly down to the FBI field office in Coopersville, North Carolina. Coordinate with local law enforcement and obtain a vehicle.”

Gideon nodded, immediately seeing the unspoken part of Hotchner’s plan. “If Lewis is southbound, we may just be lucky enough to be fairly close to wherever the authorities intercept him. That way we can question him as soon as possible.” 

“Meanwhile, Morgan and Reid can be out on the road, ready to intercept Lewis in case he’s headed north,” Hotchner replied.

“Right.” The exchange concluded and Gideon headed over to Agent Prentiss. 

Meanwhile, Hotchner approached Morgan and Reid. Both agents stood up, ready to receive their orders. Hotchner quietly and succinctly relayed the plan to the two young agents. When he finished, Morgan was already moving. “Let’s go. We need to leave now to have a hope in hell of intercepting Lewis if he’s headed this way.”

Reid hastily gathered his notebook and pen. “I’ll meet you at the front, I just want to check my phone messages to see if Dr. Davidson from the Boston speech lab left any messages for me.” 

“Five minutes. Then we’re out of here,” Morgan called over his shoulder.

Sometime during the briefing, it had begun to rain. The droplets fell gently down from an overcast sky, making the heavens look as though it were weeping. Perhaps it was. 

Fifteen minutes later, a black Ford Expedition with tinted windows, carrying SSA Morgan and Dr. Reid, entered the I-95 on-ramp, heading south on the rain-slicked interstate. The two men inside had embarked on a quest birthed from a single clue, and hung on the hope that they just might intercept David Lewis. 

 

********

Two highway rest stops, a weigh station, and two commercial truck stops later there was no sign of David Lewis. Morgan and Reid had tuned in the radio frequency for the state highway patrol and listened to the chatter. The radio buzzed with reports concerning typical state patrol traffic events - a drunk driver, a three-car collision, a roadside drug bust, but on the subject of David Lewis, there was silence. 

There was silence too among the two men, each caught up in their private thoughts. 

Morgan didn’t know why and he hadn’t had time to examine the reason for the odd-feeling, sudden sense of relief that had stolen over him when he’d first heard that the assignment included partnering Reid with him for the day. After all, if Reid turned out to be correct and the man they were pursuing was not the UnSub, then today’s exercise was most likely nothing more than a wasteful road trip. 

However, the chance to spend some time alone with the young doctor, even if it were in a car, working on an unpleasant case involving a brutal sexual sadist, suited him just fine. He’d spoken with the younger man on the phone yesterday, true, but he’d missed seeing Spencer, missed the intoxicating effect the sight alone of the slender genius had on him. 

Too late, the suave agent realized he was grinning in a manner not at all befitting the present circumstance when said genius did a double-take as the hazel eyes happened to glance his way. “What are you grinning at?” Reid asked, the slightly peevish tone of his voice sounding only half-feigned.

The tone wasn’t lost on Morgan and he wondered at it. He forced the beguiling grin away, but not his niggling concern that something was seriously bothering the man he loved. “Nothing,” he answered back with his own feigned casualness. He absently turned the knob to increase the speed of the windshield wipers. He decided to take a stab at guessing the cause of the younger man’s discontent and missed: “I take it there were no messages from the language lab?”

Reid shook his head slightly and answered in a neutral voice, “No, not yet. But I’ll call them later today.” Reid tapped one slim finger on the GPS screen until he found the display he sought. “The next truck stop is coming up in five miles,” he changed the subject. 

Morgan shrugged, “In ten minutes the Olympus Corporation offices will be open and someone there will be able to tell us exactly where he should be according to his delivery schedule. How much are you willing to bet that Jason and Emily will be the ones to intercept Lewis?”

Suddenly the radio crackled to life and the incorporeal voices of two State troopers engaged in conversation came through, first in broken bursts and then steady and clear. Reid’s body stiffened and he leaned forward. Then the young agent turned towards Morgan and his face was animated and his eyes were large. “I don’t think I’ll be taking that bet. It’s Lewis! Two state troopers have him under surveillance at the next truck stop restaurant.”

Morgan gave a terse nod and stepped harder on the accelerator. The remaining miles disappeared remarkably fast until they came up on the truck stop exit looming in front of them. Morgan slowed the vehicle and carefully cruised into the parking lot. 

The black SUV looked like a crawling black beetle moving amongst the parked and slowly-moving, behemoth tractor-trailer trucks. Derek Morgan found a space and parked. Then he cut the engine and both men exited the vehicle. 

Cautiously they looked around. There were two patrol cars in the vicinity with one being parked between two trucks in the farthest corner of the parking lot. They looked around for the other car. “Over there,” Morgan inclined his head towards a Virginia State patrol car parked discreetly off to the side of the restaurant, but affording the occupants a perfect view of the building’s entrance and patrons seated at the sit down bar. Hearts quickening, the two men approached the vehicle, both discreetly showing their credentials to the troops seated within. 

“Where is he?” Morgan asked after the perfunctory introductions.

“At the bar, third man on the left,” the middle-aged trooper who had introduced himself as Robert Johnston replied.

The man Reid and Morgan saw sitting with his back towards them was wearing a New York Giant’s jersey and blue jeans. His ball cap was on the counter next to him affording Reid and Morgan a clear view of his short, thick salt and pepper-colored hair. “He’s made all his deliveries and he’s off the clock.” Reid commented softly.

David Lewis appeared to be just finishing up his meal. The truck driver stood up, snagged one last sip of coffee before reaching into his back jeans pocket for his wallet. He fished it out and after thumbing through the bills, took some out and laid them on the counter. 

A young, attractive blonde waitress took up the money and bill, acknowledging Lewis with a bright smile. Lewis exchanged a few words before swaggering away with a wink and a grin. 

“Let’s go,” Morgan said in a low voice. He and Reid began walking towards the restaurant’s entrance just as Lewis pushed open the glass door and strolled out into the warm, but drizzling day. 

The agents approached the trucker head-on, clearly in the man’s line-of-sight. If he saw them, he apparently deemed them of no importance and kept walking casually. 

When the agents drew abreast of the unsuspecting man, Reid hailed him while simultaneously pulling out his credentials. “David Lewis? FBI. I’m Special Agent Dr. - ” 

Reid’s introduction was abruptly truncated when Lewis didn’t wait for him to finish speaking, but instantly broke into an all-out run.

Be it an approach on a witness or UnSub, as FBI agents, Morgan and Reid had enough experience and training to expect the full range of reactions, from passive acquiescence to violent confrontation. Even so, the immediate flight of their query sent Morgan’s adrenalin surging on high with the suddenness of it. In a split second he drew his weapon and shouted for Lewis to stop. 

But he didn’t stop. Instead, Lewis kept on running the mad dash of the desperate, veering off towards a line of shrubbery fifty yards away. “Shit!” Morgan grimly holstered his weapon and took off after him, Reid’s slender form keeping up right beside him. Neither man noticed Trooper Johnston’s car, siren off, lights flashing, as it accelerated quickly, cutting off Lewis’ flight path. 

Too late, Lewis failed to see the car in time to halt the inevitable collision. With a loud “umph” his body collided with the side of the patrol car, bouncing him off and sending him sprawling onto the pavement. In an instant, Morgan pounced on the man’s back, holding him down with his knee and wrenching his arms together to hold the struggling man still. 

The two troopers emerged from the patrol car and they too stood over David Lewis. “What the fuck? Get off me! Let me go,” Lewis spewed angrily, his pocked-marked face red and scrunched up, body wiggling like a worm, while curious patrons spilled out from the restaurant.

Morgan quickly ran his hands over the man’s torso and limbs, checking for any sign of injury as well as hidden weapons. Finding none, he pulled the man upright none too gently until Lewis was seated on the pavement with his legs straight out in front of him. “If you didn’t do anything wrong, then why did you run? We’ve been looking for you and we have a warrant to bring you in for questioning,” Morgan practically growled. He couldn’t help but think that while Lewis might not be the UnSub, but he _was_ the piece of shit who had once tied a woman down and left a hot iron on her stomach.

Lewis’s face paled and he began to babble nervously, “This was the last time I swear. They were all over eighteen - they had papers that said so!”

Reid and Morgan exchanged covert, puzzled looks. What was Lewis babbling about? Reid squatted down on his heels so that he was eye-level with Lewis. His voice deceptively calm, he asked, “How many girls?” 

Lewis’ face registered something - surprise? panic? Morgan couldn’t label it before the man’s face smoothed out and the expression was gone. “I’m not involved in production, I just distribute the DVDs that’s all.” Lewis mumbled, shifting his eyes from Reid to Morgan and back again.

Reid looked up at Morgan and mouthed the words, “porn movies”. Morgan silently nodded his head in agreement. No, this was not their UnSub, Morgan thought, but just for extra assurance he said as he towered over Lewis, “You can make things go a hell of a lot easier for yourself if you tell us right now where Sugar Kane is.”

Lewis’s face went slack-jawed, “Who the fuck is that? I don’t know no bitch named Sugar Kane.” 

“Then you don’t mind if we take a look in your cab do you?” Reid asked, daring him with a penetrating look to say no. 

Lewis shrugged, his manner surly. “Knock yourselves out. I told ya, I don’t know her.”

“Where is your truck?” 

Lewis gestured with a quick jerk of his head towards the far left end of the parking lot. There were three trucks parked in the farthest corner consisting of two big rigs and a medium-size one sandwiched in between, were facing out. 

“Keys are in my pocket.”

One of the troopers carefully reached in and extracted a set of keys from Lewis’ front pocket.

“We’ll hold him while you check out his rig.” The trooper handed the keys to Morgan and then both troopers hauled Lewis to his feet and frog-marched him over to the patrol car. 

“Come on, Spencer, let’s get this over with.” Morgan began walking with a determined stride in the direction of the three parked rigs. As they drew nearer to the trucks Morgan felt his adrenalin beginning to surge again. What would they find in Lewis’ truck? Despite evidence to the contrary, was Lewis in fact the killer and would they find Sugar Kane’s abused body hidden in his truck? They were balanced on the edge, poised on the point that lay between not knowing and knowing. 

He took a deep breath and led the way towards the side passenger door of the middle truck. Across from him, Reid’s hands were steady on his weapon, but the intense, focused look on his face spoke eloquently of the tension the young doctor must be feeling. 

Morgan fumbled briefly with the set of keys before finding the right one. A second later he had the door open. With stealth the agents drew their weapons and positioned themselves on either side of the door opening.   
Morgan signaled to Reid with his eyes and Reid, hazel eyes dark and serious nodded his head slightly in acknowledgement. “Cynthia Moore,” Reid called out. “Ms. Moore, if you’re in there, this is the FBI. We’re here to rescue you.” He paused then said, “We‘re coming in.” 

Then they were climbing up into the cab and cautiously entering the sleeping compartment - they looked around and in doing so, slid off the edge into knowing. 

Morgan and Reid put away their weapons. 

The sleeping compartment was clean and orderly, but not of the antiseptically pristine variety that felt and smelt of a telltale attempt to eradicate evidence of blood and violence. It was an everyday lived-in look and smell of a man who kept things tidy. 

“He’s not our UnSub.” Reid sounded resigned, a hint of sad frustration tingeing the words. The young man stood still, his eyes taking in the homey-looking sleeping compartment with its wood-paneled walls. The bed was neatly made and covered by a thick comforter. Evidently, David Lewis liked his creature comforts for the space boasted a compact Bose entertainment center as well as a small flat screen TV and DVD player. 

“There’s no smell of fear and violence here.” Reid closed his eyes. “I know what that smells like.” A slight shudder went through the slender frame and Morgan unconsciously found himself moving closer to the young man. 

He looked around, hating to hear the melancholy tone of Reid’s voice. “Come on, Spencer, you already knew he most likely wasn’t the UnSub. Even so, we can’t know for sure that he wasn’t torturing women in here unless forensics goes through this cab from top to bottom.” 

“I know,” Reid answered absently, his eyes not meeting Morgan’s. Morgan couldn’t tell whether Spencer was agreeing or affirming his belief that David Lewis was not the UnSub. 

He settled on suggesting the next course of action. “Let’s check out the back.”

They exited the cab and walked around until they were at the locked back doors. This time, Morgan found the correct key on the first try. The mechanism released and they were able to slide the locking bars out of position. Morgan opened the doors cautiously.

Daylight flooded into the dark, hollow truck interior. 

Except for a crate in one corner, the truck was empty. With athletic, cat-like grace Morgan lifted himself into the back with his arms. Reid hesitated slightly before following suit in a lesser display of athletic prowess. Reid cleared the height into the truck but for a moment, his body was balanced precariously on the edge. Morgan deftly caught the gangly form by the arm and hauled Reid the rest of the way into the truck. 

“Thanks.”

Morgan grinned. “Any time.” 

They made their way over to the crate and, together, lifted off the top and placed it on the floor. They peered inside at the contents. “Bingo,” Morgan muttered as he pulled out a pair of gloves and put them on. He pulled out a plain-looking black DVD case with a white label on it. _“Deep Holes III_ ,” Morgan read aloud with disgust. “Looks like Mr. Lewis is into the porno DVD distribution business on company time.” 

“I don’t think he’s in the running for ‘Employee of the Year’ anymore,” Reid quipped. 

Morgan chuckled and then his expression grew serious. “Something’s not right. Did you see Lewis’ face when you asked him how many girls were involved?”

Reid looked thoughtful. “He looked...like I’d said something odd.” His expression grew grim. “Those could be snuff films.” 

The normally unflappable Morgan felt his gut unexpectedly clench sickeningly. “Damn. There’s only one way to find out.” He wanted to move but he found himself staring at the crate as if held a nest of squirming vipers, not innocuous looking black dvd cases.

Reid, who had himself, donned a pair of evidence gloves, took the dvd case from Morgan’s hands without comment. He went to the edge of the truck, squatted low before jumping down to the ground. Morgan followed behind him. 

Returning to the truck cab, Reid turned the ignition key to produce power before entering the sleeping compartment. Reid turned on the entertainment system and carefully removed the DVD from its case. 

“Go on,” Morgan said tersely. “I swear, if these girls have been hurt -” 

“Then he’ll be punished,” Reid finished for him. He popped the DVD in and advanced it, searching for the ending scenes. Reid pushed the play button and the dvd began playing. 

Morgan didn’t see Reid’s hazel eyes widen in shock. He never caught the look of revulsion that swept across the younger man’s face, twisting the fine features until they conveyed with crystal clear eloquence his horror. He could no more see Reid’s reaction than see the horror written on his own face. But he felt it, like a bolt of lightning striking with sickening horror from his head to his feet until he became incapable of seeing anything but the scene playing out on the TV. 

The effect was immediate the moment he saw the graphic sex acts being carried out by grown men grunting and grinning, their nakedness only half-covered by athletic clothes from various sports in a lurid locker room scene.

And now Morgan understood David Lewis’ odd expression when Reid referenced girls - they both did. The men were not perpetrating sex acts upon consenting women of age, but on young boys, some having the appearance of pre-teens, all having eyes glazed over with pain and fear. 

Morgan stood transfixed, consumed by old memories his mind chose to dredge up. He saw himself as the youth from the wrong side of the Chicago inner city tracks. He saw Carl Buford, a large man wearing his familiar coaches’ hat and jacket. He saw them together, helpless to stop his once trusted coach and father figure from using his body as a receptacle for his grown man’s selfish needs. 

Morgan stumbled backwards as he felt his stomach heave and the contents race up into his throat. He barely had time to stumble from the cab before letting loose a volley of vomit onto the pavement. 

With the press of a button he’d been thrust back into a visual depiction of his deepest shame - a secret he’d kept to himself until he’d had no other choice but divulge it to his superior officers, Agents Hotchner and Gideon. Until now only five people knew of his past sexual abuse - and Reid was not one of them. As far as Morgan was concerned, the young man was never supposed to find out. 

“Derek, Derek!” 

He was bent over, heaving and panting for air when Morgan heard his name being called. Only then did he register the fact that Spencer was at his side, a quiet, gentle presence. Gradually, Morgan’s breathing returned to normal. He wiped the bitter taste of his mouth on his sleeve then slowly stood up and looked into the face of his love. 

Fathomless despair pulled at his soul for Spencer’s eyes were filled with more than just concern for his sudden, violent reaction. The hazel eyes were filled with a terrible sad knowledge and infinite compassion in the wake of what his genius mind had deduced had happened. There was no point in denying it and Spencer’s stuttered words confirmed his worst fears. 

“I...I’m so sorry, Derek.”

Morgan didn’t answer. There was nothing more to say. He was damaged goods, a fraud of the worst kind. Why would Reid ever want to be with him now after he’d learn the truth about what he’d been willing to do just to have a future, to have the older man in his corner? 

Morgan hung his head and backed away. It was too late for him. He wasn’t going to have the life he had hoped for with Spencer Reid, but life’s dreams didn’t have to be over for the young boys on the DVD. Bitterness rose within him and with it, a red-hot anger that caused his fists to clench. “Damn you, Carl Buford! And damn you, David Lewis!” Morgan hissed as he felt himself losing control. He knew he was teetering on the edge of professional misconduct, but he was helpless to stop it as his feet, seemingly of their own will, propelled him with long strides in the direction of the trooper’s car where David Lewis sat. 

As if reading his mind, Spencer sprung into action, placing himself bodily in front of Morgan’s tense form and speaking in a rapid, urgent tone. “Derek, don’t! It’s okay, it’s going to be okay...for those boys and for you.” Reid swallowed hard, but the slender hand that lay upon Morgan’s arm was steady, imparting the extraordinary courage that was an integral part of Reid. “I love you, Derek Morgan. I love you and I can’t wait to show you how much, until what Carl did to you can’t hurt you anymore. Please. Please give us a chance.” 

Morgan stopped in his tracks. Reid’s eyes were wide, pleading earnestly with him. He looked into those eyes for a time that seemed to stretch into eternity. Slowly, the fury building in his veins died down. His heart ceased its accelerated pounding and resumed a normal pace. His world that had tilted sickeningly righted itself and then he found himself surrendering to the only truth he was sure of: he could deny those eyes nothing. His fists unclenched.

“Derek- ”

“Don’t,” Morgan interrupted. He took a deep breath. “I don’t want to talk about this now. We have a job to do, let’s get it done so we can get the hell out of here.”

Reid looked enormously relieved and his eyes had grown darker, no longer burning with such bright emotional intensity though they still conveyed care and concern. Reid took his hand away from Derek‘s arm, grateful that the Troopers could not see them from where they sat in the car. “Okay. Let’s go.” 

Side by side, the two agents walked back to the car and when they arrived, Reid signaled to the troopers. Trooper Johnston exited the car, leaving the other trooper inside with Lewis. “You’re going to need an evidence team,” Reid immediately informed the man. Quickly Reid briefed him on what they had found. 

Trooper Johnston didn’t even try to hide his disgust. “Sonovabitch,” the man swore. 

Trooper Johnston leaned into the vehicle and spoke to his fellow trooper. Then he called in to his headquarters before turning to the handcuffed Lewis. “David Lewis, you are under arrest for possession of child pornography and transporting child pornography. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do....”

Morgan tuned out the words being spoken and turned away, suddenly exhausted. There was nothing more to do here. David Lewis was not the UnSub, but they’d fished and caught a monster in their net anyway. 

Lewis would no doubt lose his job, but that was the least of his worries. If he wanted to avoid a long stretch in prison, he’d roll over on anyone connected with the production of the porno films. 

Twenty minutes later Morgan and Reid were back on the road, this time headed northbound, back to Quantico. Reid was driving. Every now and then the young man would glance over at Morgan, as if searching for the right timing and thing to say to get the suave agent talking, but Morgan simply stared out the passenger’s window while the silence stretched out before them like the black tar of I-95.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.
> 
> http://romanseartfanfic.com


	14. chapter 14

Reid drove on through the rain, content to let Morgan keep his own counsel for as long as it took for the older man to realize that he was right there, ready to listen, ready to support unconditionally. In the meantime, his stomach was becoming more insistent in reminding him that he’d not eaten breakfast. He had the beginnings of a headache too. Needing a distraction, he reached out and fiddled with the radio dial, station surfing until he found one that was playing classical music.

A concerto later, Reid’s stomach growled loudly. He looked over and grinned sheepishly at his companion. “Sorry. I didn’t eat this morning and I’m starving.” 

There were shadows in the dark eyes that looked back at him, but Morgan gently teased him anyway saying, “Is that your not so subtle way of suggesting we stop for food somewhere?” 

“I suppose so. I’ll even treat you.” Reid spoke carefully when he added, “we can talk even - if you feel up to it.”

Morgan didn’t immediately speak. After a minute he asked, “You really didn’t know about Carl Buford?”

“No. I didn’t. I thought it was strange that Hotch ordered Emily, JJ and me back to Virginia almost immediately after Carl was arrested, but then again, it wasn’t a typical case. It was your personal business. I...I just wanted you to be okay.”

Morgan just stared out of the window. The reply, when it came, was low and soft, “I wasn’t okay.” Morgan turned to look at Reid. “I was mad as hell at Hotch and Gideon for not having the decency to let things alone, even though I practically _begged_ them.” 

“Real friends will intrude, Derek, and - what Carl did to you _was_  
germane to the case,” Reid offered, his heart feeling compassion, but his head knowing that Hotch and Gideon had no choice but to get to the truth. 

Morgan suddenly slammed his hand against the dash in a burst of anger. “It was none of their business!” he said vehemently.

Reid flinched and Morgan looked at him with a guilty expression. 

Reid took a deep breath, “Carl wanted you to feel ashamed so you wouldn‘t tell anyone, you know that.” 

“Yeah, I know that, Spencer. As much as I hated how it came out, there was a small part of me that was actually glad that somebody finally did know. I just wish...” Morgan closed his eyes wearily, his voice made rougher-sounding with repressed emotion. 

“You wish what?” Reid asked gently. He would give anything to take the shame away from Derek. _This is what it’s like to care about another man._ The stray thought came to him, taking him by surprise. 

“I wish that it had been anyone but those two. I can’t help but think that sometimes Hotch and Gideon are looking at me and thinking, ‘he let that man do those things to him and he must have liked it or he would have told.’ I wonder sometimes if they question what kind of weak character I have if I would let a man molest me just so I could have a father figure in my life and a way out of the inner-city.” Morgan held up his hand in a gesture meant to stave off Reid’s response. “I know it’s not true, but...” Morgan abruptly stopped speaking. 

Reid glanced at Morgan and immediately grew concerned when his saw that the older man’s complexion had taken on a grayish hue. Reid could see Morgan’s throat moving convulsively as he swallowed.

“Hang on, Derek, there’s a commercial rest stop in less than a quarter mile. We’ll stop there.” Reid didn’t wait for a response from the ill-looking man, he just pressed the accelerator harder and moved into the right hand lane in preparation to exit. 

Reid breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the approaching exit and it wasn’t long before he was steering the SUV into the parking lot of the Travel Plaza Rest Stops of America. 

The rest stop boasted a large parking lot with separate areas for commercial trucks and passenger cars. In the middle was a large facility which housed a restaurant on one side and a gasoline station on the other. The cash registers for both were located in the connecting country store situated between the restaurant and gas station. 

The SUV hadn’t even come to a full stop when Morgan quickly got out. Reid watched as the older man breathed deeply of the fresh outside air and then leaned on the vehicle, placing his head on his folded arms. 

He cut the engine, pocketed the keys and came around to stand in concerned silence behind Morgan. After a time, Morgan pushed himself away from the SUV and turned around, shoving his hands into his jean’s pockets. Reid scrutinized his lover’s appearance, noting that the grayish tone had left his skin and he looked much less on the verge of puking his guts out again. 

“You okay?”

Morgan took a deep breath. “Better.” He made a face, something between a rueful grin and a grimace. “I think I may be coming down with something. You get something to eat though, I just don’t know if food is a good idea for me right now.” 

“I’ll make it fast.” 

They both proceeded to cross the parking lot and enter the restaurant. When they approached the hostess stand they were greeted by a perky, smiling waitress holding an armful of plastic-sheathed menus. “How many?” she inquired with a toothy white grin.

Morgan held up two fingers and young woman replied with a cheery, “Right this way.”

They were led to a corner booth in the busy restaurant where the waitress deposited the menus for their perusal. Reid scanned his menu with all the quick reading efficiency and intensity normally reserved for a crime scene before mentally making his selection. He put down his menu and flushed slightly when he saw Morgan observing him with a mildly amused expression on his handsome face. 

“What?” He challenged self-consciously.

“Nothing,” Morgan grinned and went back to studying his own menu.

When the waitress returned and took their orders, Reid asked for a combination scrambled egg breakfast with coffee, while Morgan ordered a simple coffee and bagel with cream cheese. 

The smell of cooked food was all round them as they waited. It wafted from dish-laden trays carried by scurrying waitresses. Bus boys hauled tubs filled dishes dirtied with mishmashed food remnants past their table, and those too added to the food odors. Reid couldn’t help but notice Morgan studiously avoiding having to look at both passing waitress trays and bus boy dish tubs. In fact, Reid perceived that Morgan appeared to be becoming increasingly uncomfortable. “Uh, I could get this to go, you know. We don’t have to stay and eat here if the smell is getting to you.” 

Morgan shook his head. “Nah, I’m good,” he insisted gamely, though his body language said otherwise.

It wasn’t long after that Morgan was forced to admit to feeling anything but good. The waitress had returned with their food and Reid had proceeded to dig into the pancakes and sausage with great enthusiasm, leaving the eggs for last. Morgan, on the other hand, sipped tentatively at his coffee and picked apart the bagel with very little of it making its way to his mouth. 

The two ate in companionable silence.

Reid finished his pancakes and began to apply a liberal dose of ketchup to his scrambled eggs. This apparently was Morgan’s undoing. The smell and sight of what he called, ‘bloody eggs’ had the effect of making him feel nauseated. Morgan breathed out hard through his nose, pushed his own food away and abruptly stood up, clearly on the verge of heaving again.

“Shit, I need the bathroom. _Now_.” 

“Go. I’ll take care of the bill.” 

Reid couldn’t tell if Morgan had heard him or not. The other man practically barreled past the returning waitress who’d come to drop off the check.

Leaving the eggs, he took up the check and made his way over to the connecting country store to pay. 

There were two registers, but only one had a cashier. There were a handful people in line waiting to pay. 

When Reid spied the aisle containing an assortment of remedies and medicine he ambled over with the thought of picking up something to settle Morgan’s stomach. After reading the labels and making his selection, Reid got in line. 

It wasn’t long before the strains of what sounded like a heated conversation coming from the head of the line made its way to his ears, but he ignored it while he read the back of the medicine. He was still reading the information while standing in a line that was no longer moving forward, when suddenly his cell phone began to vibrate alerting him to an incoming call. 

He snapped the phone open without checking the number and answered, “Reid here.” 

“Dr. Reid, this is Dr. Alan Davidson at the Speech Analysis and Interpretation lab. I apologize for the delay in getting back to you, but you know how it is when you’re caught up in grant red tape hell and budget shortfalls. I swear the bureaucracy here is - ”

“Dr. Davidson, were you able to determine what word the victim was saying?” Reid interrupted anxiously. He was elated to hear back from Davidson, but he didn’t give a rat’s ass about the man’s problems with institutional bureaucracy. 

“Well, yes, I believe we have successfully employed one of our newer decoding strategies to identify the word your victim was attempting to communicate to within 98% certainty, give or take a small margin for error. We were very lucky - our strategy only detected one other competing word hypothesis, and unless your victim speaks Swahili, you can pretty much ignore it.”

Reid shifted the phone over to his other ear and hoped his voice wouldn‘t reveal his growing impatience. “That’s great, Dr. Davidson. So what is the word?”

“The word is motor home.”

Reid was sure he hadn‘t heard right. Had the man actually said ‘motor home’? “Motor home? Did you say, motor home?” he asked, temporarily flummoxed. For the first time since he and Derek had visited Ellen Barnes, he wondered if Derek had been right all along. Had Ellen been purely delusional and babbling nonsense? 

“Yes, the word is motor home.” Dr. Davidson gave a short laugh. “Can’t say I blame the poor woman - she probably had sticker shock. Do you know the wife and I went RV shopping and just about -”

“Thank you, Dr. Davidson,” Reid cut off the man, politely but firmly. “I really appreciate your assistance. If you think of anything else, please don’t hesitate to call.” Reid ended the call and put his cell phone away, thinking furiously the entire time. 

_“I know damn well you carry Lucky Strike smokes - I freakin’ come here all the time and you’ve never been out!_ ” The sound of the angry male voice interrupted his thoughts. Reid looked up sharply to find that the line had thinned out as customers either tired of waiting or smelling trouble, prudently went elsewhere. 

Curious, he peered around the hefty woman standing directly in front of him and tried to get a glimpse at the owner of the angry-sounding voice. All he could see from his vantage point was the back of broad shoulders belonging to a rather large man with a blond buzz cut.

The man raised his voice even louder at the young, pimply-faced male working the register. The youth behind the register looked up at the man towering over him and squawked, “I told you, if it ain’t on the shelves, we don’t carry it.” 

“Listen A-hole, take your lazy ass back to the backroom and see if you have a shipment in that’s not on the shelves!”

The big woman in front of Reid walked away shaking her head.

And now there was no one between Reid and the enraged customer who seemed to be wearing some type of uniform shirt and slacks.

The pimply youth stood his ground. “I can’t leave the register - I’ll get fired.” 

The large man leaned over the counter and said something meant for the kid’s ears only. The effect was instantaneous - the blood seemed to drain from the young face and he looked wild-eyed with fear. 

Concerned, Reid stepped forward, “Excuse me, but did this man just threaten you?” 

The youth’s eyes grew impossibly larger when he saw Reid’s Glock, which he always wore prominently displayed in his hip holster. “I don’t want any trouble,” the youth stammered.

The big man turned around affording Reid a clear view of his cotton grey work shirt with its embroidered company logo consisting of three mountain peaks with red and yellow flames coming out from behind. “Get outa my way,” the baby-faced man with startling blue eyes that held just the barest hint of insanity and cruelty in them, sneered as he shoved Reid away. 

Instantly, a shudder went through Reid’s body and he froze in place as he read the lettering on the shirt. _Olympus Chemical Corporation!_ His mouth dropped open in disbelief as his mind simultaneously processed the words and symbol of the logo on the man’s shirt, and the stark memory of Ellen Barnes’ tortured mutterings. With unerring accuracy Reid’s mind made the connection. 

A piece of the puzzle had slid into place. Over and over the stricken woman had uttered the words ‘fire on the mountains,’ and the answer had been right under their noses. As luck would have it, neither he nor Morgan had ever seen the Olympus Corporation logo before. 

The big man was already past the double glass doors and into the parking lot. Reid followed the line of direction the man was headed and when he saw the vehicle the man was clearly making his way towards, for the second time he was hit head-on with a jolt that ran through his body, leaving him rooted to the spot in shock. 

It was a motor home, a 70’s vintage era camper. 

“Hey, mister, you ready to pay or what?” a voice demanded. Reid’s head snapped around. It was the pimply faced boy, looking like he had regained his composure. Reid shoved the bill and enough money to cover it and three more on the counter. Then, quickly, he reached for his cell phone, fumbling with the device when frantic fingers found it. 

His heart was pounding. This was the UnSub! Sugar Kane aka Cynthia Moore was most likely yards away, in bad shape no doubt. 

Just then, while Reid was dialing Morgan, another young man joined the kid at the register. “Dude, what was up with the pissed-off Pillsbury Dough Boy?”

“Mike, where the hell have you been? That jerk was having a coronary over a brand of cigarettes I told him, like a thousand times, we don’t carry.”

“What brand?”

“I dunno, some shit like Lucky Man, Lucky Star -”

“Lucky Strikes, you idiot! And yeah we do carry it and yeah, there’s some in the back. I‘ll go and get it. Run and you can catch the guy.”

“No way, dude, that ain’t happenin’. I’ll look in the back and _  
you_ flag down psycho Dough Boy.” 

Mike hurried past Reid and when he reached the doorway he yelled out. “Hey Mister. We got your smokes. Bozo here’s new on the job so he don’t know no better.” 

Reid’s UnSub stopped and turned around when he’d been hailed. The giant of a man stalked back and as he approached, Reid carefully positioned himself in another aisle where he would not be seen. Adrenalin surged through his body, making his heart hammer in his chest as he crouched down.

Reid listened as the phone dialed Morgan’s number. “Answer the phone, Derek, answer the phone,” he muttered tightly. 

But Derek’s sure, steady voice did not sound in his ear and time was running out. The UnSub would not be away from the motor home for long. He _had_ to get to the motor home before he did. At this very moment, he was the only one who had a hope of freeing Cynthia Moore - assuming the young woman was still alive. 

Suddenly, Reid heard Derek over the phone. The suave agent’s voice sounded rough and the acoustics clearly indicated his location as being in a bathroom stall. “Spencer, this isn’t a good time -” the words cut off and Reid winced in sympathy when he heard the sounds of dry heaving. 

“Derek! Derek, listen to me. The UnSub is here! Inside the store! He works for Olympus, but he doesn’t drive a truck, he drives a motor home! I’m going out and see if I can get Cynthia out before he returns.”

Reid heard a vehemently expressed ‘no’ followed by a curse and the humiliating sounds of a digestive system under siege. It was clear that Derek was indisposed and wouldn‘t be able to help in time. He was on his own. 

“I gotta go, Derek.” He ended the call, cutting off Derek’s pained, frantic response. 

Reid took a deep breath and peered around the corner. The UnSub was at the counter watching as the clerks opened up a box, presumably containing the desired brand of smokes. He was working on auto-pilot as his legs propelled him upwards and out the door. He ran like lightning over to the motor home, not even trying to avoid the areas where the rain had puddled. He reached the door and found it locked. Desperate to determine if Cynthia was inside, he started banging on the sides and calling out. “Is there anyone inside? This is the FBI. I’m here to help. Cynthia, Cynthia Moore? Make some noise if you can hear me!” 

He listened intently. 

There! He heard it, an answering banging sound coming from the rear on the same side of the motor home where the door was.

_Oh my God, she’s alive!_ Reid knew he didn’t have much time and he was driven by a fierce urgency to find a way inside. Quickly, he walked around to the other side, passing the RV’s standard attached metal ladder that was mounted at the rear, left side. He continued around the other side and spied a high, small, square, screenless window that was cracked open. 

Reid deduced that it was the bathroom window. His mind quickly calculated whether or not he was thin enough to squeeze through the tight opening. The answer was ‘yes’, but now he needed a way in. 

He looked at the ladder, judging its distance from the window. Yes, it was close enough for him to climb and move over to the window. It would take some contorting, but he thought he could push the pane all the way up and maneuver his body through the space. He knew he wouldn’t be able to get through the window wearing his hip-holster, so he took it off, and after removing his Glock, placed the empty holster on the ground. 

It was raining harder now and Reid’s wet hair plastered itself to his skull and his clothes were getting soaked. With one hand he got a firm grip on the cold, rain-slicked metal and with the other holding the Glock, began climbing up the RV ladder. When he was even with the window, he reached over and with one hand, pushed it all the way open. 

He looked down and his mouth suddenly became dry as a desert. If he fell while trying to cross into the window he would easily break a bone. Yet he didn’t hesitate. Quickly he transferred the weapon he held and secured it to his body with his belt. Then he lifted first one leg and then the other, all the while twisting and wiggling his body to make it go through the small bathroom window. For once in his life he’d had reason to rejoice in his extremely slender physique; had he been any larger, he would not have fit.

His body above the waist was still hanging precariously on the outside when he grasped the weapon and removed it from his belt so that he could shove his body the rest of the way in. He bit his lip to still the cry of pain when the rough edges of the window sill scraped his upper abdomen and chest. 

One last shove and then he was inside.

 

******

Inside the bathroom, a miserable-feeling Morgan was going crazy. He’d never been felled by illness so fast. He couldn’t believe the incapacitating bouts of vomiting that had seized his guts and the horrible discomfort of cramping diarrhea. Spencer believed he’d identified the UnSub and was foolishly breaking all known forms of protocol to go after the kidnapped girl. He had to get himself together and out of this stall before his lover got himself killed. 

In between bouts of illness, Morgan kept dialing Reid’s phone, so far in vain because the younger man had turned his phone off when he’d ended the call. 

His next call was to Hotchner at FBI Headquarters. 

 

******

Reid found himself standing in a small, darkened shower that was little more than a stand-in closet. Reid grasped his weapon and steadily pushed open the door, all the while calling out to the person within. 

The motor home interior was old, but well-kept. 

It stank. 

Reid nearly gagged on the rank smell of sweat, sex and decay that permeated the interior. 

The front of the motor home contained the driver and passenger captain chairs. Above that was a sleeping compartment. The entrance led to the kitchen and dining area and in the rear, there was a bunkhouse sleeping compartment with the shower located across from it.

A frantic thumping noise emanated from the lower bunk bed which was directly in front of him. Cynthia, or whoever was there was _beneath_ the bunk bed, imprisoned in some sort of storage compartment. Quickly, Reid sprang into action. He tried to rip the thin mattress off the lower bunk but discovered that it was attached to a wooden piece that served as the top of the compartment. 

It had no lock to secure it. The UnSub had no need to as Reid soon found out why. 

He lifted the wooden cover aside and gasped with shock and anger as he found himself staring into a face of Cynthia Moore whose bruised and blackened eyes were held wide with terror and agony. The girl was naked and gagged with a dirty cloth. Clearly she’d been beaten and starved. He hardly recognized her as the girl whose photo was being circulated. 

Cynthia’s hands were cuffed together and secured to a thick padlocked chain attached to the interior wall. The smell was overwhelming. 

Reid placed his gun on the top bunk. He didn’t want his weapon anywhere near arm’s reach of the victim until he could ascertain her state of mind. Gently and efficiently, Reid removed the gag, all the while uttering assurances that he wouldn’t hurt her, that he was here to help. Once the gagged was removed, the girl became hysterical, wildly flailing and jerking around. “Stop, stop!” Reid cried. “Shh…it’s okay. It’s okay. Cynthia, I need you to stay calm so we can both get out of here.” He was desperate to get her calm if he was to have any hope of liberating her from her chains and out of the motor home. 

The use of her real first name seem to calm down the abused prostitute. It grew quiet except for the sounds of the girl’s ragged breathing. “That’s better.” Reid spared her a wan smile as he fished out his handcuff key and began to work it into the lock. 

Luck and skill had been on his side thus far, but luck and skill had its limits, and Reid had sorely put them to the test. In the next few minutes, both would cruelly desert him. 

Reid slid his arms behind the girl’s back and knees, preparing to lift her out of the filthy compartment. Suddenly he froze and the blood drained from his face as a feeling of dread settled in his stomach. 

Footsteps! He was hearing the sound of heavy approaching footsteps on the metal stairs leading to the front door. He froze in place, half bent over with the girl in his arms. 

The key was in the lock. The hand was on the door. 

_Oh God, he’s back!_ The UnSub would discover him and most likely kill him and Cynthia on the spot. He had only a split second to decide his next move before that door swung open.

Reid began to lower the girl back into the dark compartment. Cynthia’s body stiffened and her eyes when wide with disbelief and hurt. She opened her mouth as if to scream when Reid hurriedly clamped his hand over her mouth. Then in a move born of pure survival, he threw himself on top of the naked girl and pulled the wooden top with the mattress back down in place. 

The girl was struggling hysterically again and if she didn’t stop, they were both going to wind up dead. “Cynthia, listen to me. I’m not going to leave you. I’m not going to leave you,” Reid repeated rapidly and firmly. “Do you understand?”

Cynthia nodded and visibly fought to calm down until all Reid felt was an intermittent trembling of her slim form. Gently, he took his hand from her dry, cracked lips. “I need you to remain completely quiet. I left my gun on the top bunk, but after he moves out, I’ll sneak out and get it,” he whispered. He kept the thought to himself that the UnSub could just as easily first come to the back to check on his victim, and thus see the gun. 

Apparently, checking on his victim was not the man’s plan as he went straight to the driver’s captain’s chair and sat down with a hard plop that Reid felt more than heard. Then there was silence as Reid unsuccessfully strained his ears to hear what the UnSub was doing. Soon, the faint acrid smell of a cigarette wafted through. 

The UnSub started up the RV and from his prison, Reid could feel the reverberating engines. Gradually, he felt the RV pulling forward, turning, and rumbling out of the parking lot. 

Reid reached down and in a gesture meant to reassure himself, curled his fingers around his cell phone. He would call Derek and let him know what was happening. 

The RV was turned again and this time, began picking up speed. Clearly, they had entered an on-ramp and were no doubt about to enter I-95. He had no way of being certain in what direction, but he thought perhaps they were heading north. 

Gently, he pulled his cell phone loose from its case. His long fingers ghosted over the buttons until he found the one to speed-dial Morgan. The call went through and on the first ring, Reid heard Morgan’s voice. 

“Derek,” Reid spoke whisper-soft, terrified that his voice would carry and alert the UnSub. 

“Spencer, where the hell are you? ” Morgan sounded angry...and scared.

“I’ve got Cynthia and we’re in a white and brown striped 1970’s Winnebago. He’s driving and I think we’re headed north on I-95.” 

“Damn! He found you?”

“No, I’m hiding. He’s kept Cynthia in a storage compartment underneath the rear bunk bed. There was no time, I had to hide.”

“I’m coming after you.” 

Reid heard the sound of a toilette flushing in the background, voices talking and then silence. “Derek? Derek, are you still sick?”

“Not anymore,” came the grim reply.

“I’m hanging up now.”

“No, don’t. Don’t you dare hang up the phone,” Derek all but shouted. The man was running to the car, hell bent on finding that motor home. 

Reid glanced at his cell phone. There was only one bar showing. “Hurry,” he whispered urgently. “I only have one bar left on the phone.” Reid could hear the sound of a car door opening and slamming - then tires squealing. 

Morgan’s voice was terse. “Hang up and I’ll call Hotchner and pass along the description so the state troopers can be on the look out for it. I‘ll call you right back.” 

Reid bit his lip and gently disconnected the call and turned his attention to Cynthia. There was barely enough room for the two of them and that left him pressed up against her bruised, bare flesh, with nowhere to put one of his legs, but on top of hers. There was nothing titillating about the situation. In truth, the fact that Reid was pressed hard against a naked woman only registered because of the stench of unwashed flesh and the horrific sight of the spectacular bruising and oozing lacerations. He wished with all his heart that he could take off his shirt and cover her with it, but there was no room to maneuver out of the garment. 

 

*******

_FBI Headquarters_

“He did what?” Aaron Hotchner never raised his voice when he was angry. It wasn’t his style. His voice got hard and seethed with intensity. Right now the staid senior agent had risen to his feet as Morgan filled him in on what was transpiring. By the time the phone call finished, Hotch’s voice, like his dark eyes, were shooting lethal daggers. 

It wasn’t all bad news though. On the one hand, Derek Morgan had told him that Reid had identified the UnSub and that Cynthia Moore was alive, but the fact that Reid had seemingly violated every aspect of training he’d had and was now trapped in a moving RV with a dangerous killer, frustrated and wracked his nerves. 

SSA Hotchner wasted no time in summoning the remaining team members to the conference room to apprise them of the current developments. Though his face remained impassive, it bothered the Unit Chief to see Garcia’s initial jubilant expression vanish. The cat-eyed glasses with a touch of bling Garcia wore made her eyes look huge, accentuating their horror-filled expression as Hotchner explained that their youngest member was at that very moment, trapped inside a moving RV with the killer.

“I’ll get Olympus on the phone,” Gideon said. The senior agent was standing next to Hotchner, a steady presence. The senior agent appeared calm, but his eyes clearly expressed concern for Reid’s welfare, and something else - anger perhaps that not a soul he’d interviewed, especially not Vern or Sylvia Anne Kruegar had bothered to mention that one of their employees made deliveries in a motor home and not a standard truck.

Hotchner nodded then directed JJ and Garcia to contact the Virginia State Highway Patrol and local law enforcement with the description and possible direction of travel of the RV. It went without saying that Garcia would stand by, ready to employ her extensive technological skills to pinpoint Reid’s location once the young man called Morgan back on his cell phone. 

“I want to know the minute you get a fix on that motor home’s location,” Hotchner stressed. 

Garcia took a deep breath and rallied. “We’ll find him,” the computer technology goddess swore vehemently. “If I can find the proverbial needle in a haystack, I sure as heck can find somebody’s rolling house on I-95. ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for so much interest in this old fic! 
> 
> http://romanseartfanfic.com


	15. Chapter 15

It was stifling hot, smelly and dark inside the cramped compartment. He couldn’t take it another minute. Reid thought the nauseating odor of the burning fish organs his captor, Tobias, had insisted on burning while he held him captive had been sickening enough, but this was far worse. He was desperately waiting for his phone to vibrate, knowing it would be Derek calling, but so far, nothing. He didn’t think he had much battery power left and he was going to need it to call for help once he’d retrieved his weapon and subdued the UnSub. 

Reid nearly jumped out of his skin when the phone he held started to vibrate. He brought it up to his mouth and spoke softly. “Derek?” 

“Yeah, kid, it’s me,” Morgan’s voice, intense and focused-sounding infused Reid with calm. “Listen, I can see what looks like a white motor home up ahead in the distance. I’m closing in on it and I‘ll be able to see if it’s a 70’s era and has brown stripes on the side soon. Hang on.”

Reid waited, listening hard to the sounds of Morgan driving the SUV. At one point he could hear the sound of Morgan laying on the horn followed by a curse. 

“I gotcha!” Morgan yelled into his phone. “I’m alongside the motor home. The bathroom window is open! I’m going to pull him over and radio for the State police,” the agent advised. 

Reid closed his eyes in relief. “Be careful. I don’t know if he’s armed or not.”

“Roger that.”

Reid could hear the approaching sound of a high-pitched siren. He took heart believing it was Morgan in the SUV, trying to pull over the UnSub, but instead of feeling the motor home slow down, he felt it pick up speed. 

Reid’s eyes sprang open as the motor home seemed to lurch ominously. The RV was going faster and faster, flying down the road at a high rate of speed, weaving as the UnSub tried to evade Morgan. Clearly the killer was not going to pull over and give up without a fight. 

Cynthia began to moan in fear and buck wildly, striking Reid and the sides of the compartment with her elbows. Reid tried to calm down the hysterical woman, hushing her with vows to not leave her, desperate to ensure the UnSub didn’t hear them.

It wasn’t long before Reid detected the sounds of multiple sirens indicating other law enforcement had joined in on the chase. The sirens got louder, the noise seemingly coming from everywhere. Underneath the compartment, Reid and Cynthia held on to each other. There was a sickening feeling growing rapidly in the pit of Reid’s stomach as the stench of burning rubber and an engine becoming overheated snaked its way through, flooding his nostrils and making him cough.

The speeding motor home careened from side to side, impossibly gaining even more speed. In that moment the choices leading to life or death began to crystallize in Reid’s mind. It would be up to him to stop the UnSub. The odds of surviving a wreck, when not if, the RV crashed were far too slim. There was no longer any point in hoping against hope that the UnSub would give up and stop. He wouldn’t.

Having made up his mind on what he would do, Reid dialed Morgan’s number once more from the phone he held in a white-knuckled grip.

The phone picked up on the first ring. “Derek, listen to me.” Reid spoke urgently. He knew his voice sounded desperate. He knew it sounded scared, but he didn’t care. All he wanted to do was tell the other man what he was planning to do - and...tell him that he loved him. 

“Hang on, Spencer!”

“There’s no time. I’m going to come out of hiding and try to stop him.”

“No! We can stop him, he’s got no choice; the state troopers have the road blocked off a mile ahead just before that massive bridge interchange construction project.” 

He knew where they were now. On the way down they’d past the multi-million dollar road project which when finished, would be a marvel of high-arching bridges. At the moment, the project in progress looked more like a giant concrete and steel play area that the gods had knocked down. Behind the numerous construction barriers and equipment, some of the would-be overpasses consisted as yet of only strategically placed stanchions rising high in the air. Others had the beginnings of on-ramps. One particular unfinished overpass was far along enough on its construction to serve as a visual promise of what was to come. It rose elegantly, high in the air only to abruptly stop at mid-point. 

Reid and Cynthia were thrown upwards as the RV hit a particularly deep pot hole, rattling it fiercely and sending a bone-jarring jolt up through his body. He swallowed hard and hoped that just some of the love and regard he had for Derek would transmit through his voice with his next words. “Whatever happens, Derek, just remember that I -”

The phone went dark as the battery died, leaving Reid to stare momentarily in shocked disappointment at the equipment rendered useless. He gently put the dead phone down, as if laying it to rest and prepared to extricate himself from the stifling compartment. 

The terrified Cynthia was not prepared to let him go so easily. The moment Reid’s shift in position signaled what he was about to do her hands clutched like talons, gripped him firmly, her ragged nails digging into the flesh on his arms. Reid pried his arms free and whispered in a stressed voice that he was grateful did not quaver, “Let me go, Cynthia. I have to stop him before he crashes and kills us.” 

“No, don’t leave me! You can’t leave me to die in here, you promised!” Cynthia cried, her hysteria arising once more. She was crying, her tears pouring down to mix with the mucus, her terrified face inches from Reid’s. 

“You have to trust me. I. Won’t. Leave. You.” Reid didn’t stop to see whether or not the punctuated promise had registered with the girl. He placed his arm against the wooden top and pushed it up. In one swift movement, he leapt out of the coffin-like space, whirled around and reachined for the Glock he knew was on the top bunk. 

Danny Kruegar, cigarette dangling from his mouth, drove on, totally focused on evading the police. Reid froze, bracing himself against the top bunk of the speeding RV. Fortunately, the UnSub appeared oblivious to the movement going on behind him. 

Reid could see the construction site just ahead of the police barricade. With as much stealth as he could muster in the speeding, swaying motor home, he made his way up until he was four feet from the UnSub. He drew the weapon up and aimed squarely at the UnSub’s head. “FBI! Pull over, now!” Reid yelled. 

The startled man jerked in his seat and turn his head. The shocked expression on his face would have been comical had the situation not been so dire. The result was anything but as maniacal blue eyes opened wide and the burning cigarette dropped from his gaping mouth into his lap. Kruegar cursed as the cigarette burned through his uniform pants, making him involuntarily tap the brakes. 

Reid’s slight form took flight as centrifugal force hurled his body forward, slamming him into the kitchen area with brutal velocity. His gun hand smacked the wall with enough force to break his hand and the gun went flying forward to land on the floor next to the UnSub’s chair. His chest hit the corner of the counter and a red-hot, paralyzing pain consumed him as he felt his ribs give way. He gasped in agony as he went down, tears of pain blinding his eyes. It hurt to breathe. 

He grit his teeth and began a desperate crawl forward towards his weapon. He was finished if the UnSub got to it before he did. He could feel his broken ribs grinding painfully together and his broken hand was swelling and shooting daggers up his arm. He groaned pitifully as his weight accidentally shifted on the damaged appendage when the UnSub mashed the accelerator, resuming the RV’s suicidal speed. 

He reached out his hand, the Glock was just within his grasp, but the UnSub looked down and yanked the weapon off the floor. With a shit-eating grin on his baby face, Kruegar opened the window and tossed the weapon out. 

For the rest of his life, Reid would be recall with terrifying clarity what happened next.

Reid couldn’t scramble out of the man’s reach fast enough. A large hand reached down to haul him up with a brutal grip in his long hair. Barely able to breathe, Reid again cried out from the pain. It felt as though his hair was being torn out from the roots. 

The RV was swaying dangerously on the wet pavement, heading straight towards the police barricade up ahead. Squad cars crossed the road and armed officers were poised, ready to fire. Reid knew the UnSub wasn’t going to stop. He was going to take as many officers down with him as he could. 

Sound diminished. Sight narrowed down to only what was in front of him, and life seemingly moved in slow motion as the motor home finally careened out of control and off to the side as it left the highway. The sight that greeted Reid next made him cry out in stark terror. “Derek!” he cried out helplessly. 

The bridge construction area loomed ahead, and like a missile, they were headed right towards it.

A second later, the UnSub jerked the wheel and the RV listed to one side, skidding up on two wheels. The motor home slammed down and broke right through the metal and wood barriers blocking the entrance of the ramp of the unfinished overpass. 

The front windshield shattered as large, sharp pieces of broken metal from barriers went flying through it, hitting the UnSub and in the process, cutting through flesh, tissue and bone, nearly severing the head from the UnSub’s shoulders. 

Driverless, the RV continued barreling up the unfinished overpass eventually jerking hard to the right making it raise up on two wheels again. It over-corrected itself, and suddenly Reid’s world turned into a weightless hell as the motor home flipped and flipped again, blood, glass, wood, steel flying everywhere. 

Reid’s forehead slammed down hard against one ruptured bulkhead sending a shattering bolt of brilliant pain through his head. His eyes rolled back and then complete and utter darkness took him down to its depths.

 

*******

There wasn’t much that a young, but experienced agent like Derek Morgan hadn’t seen that would cause him to cry out in terror. But cry out he did as he watched in abject horror as the RV on its side was miraculously and terribly still traveling up the incomplete bridge like a launched pin ball. 

He could hear the state trooper chatter on the radio. At one point they had urged him to drop out of the high-speed chase, but he’d vehemently refused. Now he blocked the chatter out as his worst nightmare unfolded right before his eyes. 

He watched in disbelief as the motor home broke through the bridge barrier, continued up the bridge overpass, then flipped, getting closer and closer to the edge of the construction. Heedless of the consequences, Morgan determinedly accelerated, following right up the ramp, all the while watching as the slowing RV still closed the distance between it and the edge to catastrophe. 

Frantic, Morgan realized that it wouldn’t be enough. Oh God! He felt helpless and sick with dread at the thought of Reid plunging 75 feet to his inevitable death off the bridge overpass. That was of course, if he hadn’t been killed already when the RV flipped. 

Morgan was so focused on the unfolding disaster going on right before his eyes that he failed to notice that some of the patrol cars that had joined him in the chase early on were still behind him and headed up the unfinished overpass. 

Morgan held his breath at the sight of the sliding RV and the trail of gas it was leaving behind. The gap was getting smaller and smaller until there appeared to be less than five feet to the edge. 

Five feet became three. Three became one. One, and the damaged front half of the RV kissed the edge until there was nothing sufficient to stop its slide. A hideous noise of scraping metal and steel accompanied the sight of the wrecked front going over the edge, where it raised up then finally stopped, moving up and down like a precariously balanced see-saw. 

“No!” Morgan screamed in denial as he too drove the SUV within a few feet of the edge. He stopped his car, got out and ran the remaining way, intent on reaching the door and getting Spencer and Cynthia out. Unfortunately, the section where the door was located was currently hanging over the overpass.

For the second time that day, Morgan’s stomach lurched sickeningly. He could see from the side view that the UnSub was dead - the geyser of blood pumping out of his nearly headless neck told him that. 

Morgan didn’t see the two state troopers get out of their cars and start running towards him. He was oblivious to their waving arms and warning shouts to keep him from crawling up to open the door. It was not his intention anyway. As stressed as he was, under pressure he remained disciplined and able to correctly ascertain the danger of moving recklessly. Any sudden shifting or addition of weight in the front end would send the RV plunging down. 

He didn’t yet know how, but he was going to get Reid out, all he knew and all he could see was that the life of the man he loved was in the gravest of dangers. The well-meaning troopers intercepted Morgan, seizing him, holding him back from his determined efforts to get to the RV. 

“Get off me!” Morgan yelled furiously, pulling his arms out of their grasp.

“You can’t just run in there, you’ll make it go over the edge with you in it!” one trooper yelled back. 

“A victim and a fellow agent are inside! We need to figure out a safe way to get them out. Now if you’re here to help, great, if not, get the hell out of my way!”

The troopers gingerly followed Morgan up to the wrecked RV, avoiding the trail of broken glass, metal and leaking gas. “Reid!” he called. “Reid, can you hear me?”

There was no answering call. “We need another way in!” Morgan said urgently. Born and raised in Chicago’s inner city, Morgan had no personal experience with recreational vehicles. He didn’t know that most had storage areas accessible from both the inside and outside. Usually, the space was big enough for a grown person to crawl through. 

One of the troopers did know, however and he gestured to the rear of the RV where it lay on its side. “RV’s usually have a storage compartment big enough for a person to get inside. 

“The side that’s facing up probably has a storage compartment. If we can get you up there, maybe you can bust it open and get inside that way,” the trooper suggested.

“Right.” Morgan gave a short nod and started forward. 

The troopers, however, remained where they were, exchanging looks.

Morgan drew up short and demanded impatiently, “What?”

“There’s a chance that the side we need is down there,” one trooper answered, one arm pointing towards the ground. 

“Help me find out,” Morgan answered tersely. 

Together, the troopers boosted Morgan up to where he could grab the one rear tire facing up. The strong, athletic body and grace Morgan was blessed with served him well as he effortlessly hauled himself up and over the top by his arms. 

Now he was standing on top of the flipped RV. Right away he saw the outline of a big storage compartment. He was practically standing on top of it. He knelt down and tried to open it, but it was locked. Quickly, Morgan called out for a crowbar. 

As one of the troopers ran back to get one, more state trooper cars converged on the overpass followed by two fire trucks and two ambulances in a show of flashing lights and ear-splitting sirens. From his vantage point, Morgan could see the trooper slam the car trunk shut and run back with a crowbar in his hand. 

The trooper reached the RV and Morgan leaned over and hauled the crowbar up, eager to put it to use. He wrestled with the lock for only a brief moment before it broke open, the force Morgan exerted with the tool violently flinging the metal lock clear away from the RV. Morgan practically tore the outside door off its hinges. 

What he saw inside made the adrenalin in his body spike even higher.

He processed what he was seeing as he took in the girl enclosed inside the side-ways storage compartment. The lid had fallen off giving him a glimpse into the wrecked interior. Cynthia Moore was lying on her side, looking up at him with terrified eyes, her face frozen in an expression of stark terror. 

“I need paramedics now!” Morgan yelled. To him, she looked like she was in bad shape, but there was a silver lining. Thought the ugly bruising on her body testified to long-term abuse, miraculously she did not appear to have sustained any fresh injuries from the wreck. 

He immediately took off his shirt and gently laid it over the naked girl. “My name is Derek Morgan and I’m with the FBI. You’re going to be just fine and we’ll have you out of here in no time,” he said, giving the frightened girl his most reassuring, soothing smile. 

Meanwhile, a group of various uniformed ambulance crew and EMT’s from the fire trucks rushed over with a host of paraphernalia and equipment between them. From atop the gently teetering RV, Morgan watched impatiently as they discussed among themselves how best to proceed. 

Morgan turned back to the chained girl and began to formulate a plan to free her and get her ready for transport. He spied Reid’s handcuff key still in the lock. Apparently, the young agent had run out of time. Quickly, Morgan worked the key. The handcuffs loosened and the weight of the padlocked, bolted chain literally dragged them off of Cynthia’s hands. 

Morgan flung the cuffs away in disgust. The act of liberating the silent, terrified girl’s hands seemed to jolt her out of her paralysis. She vaulted up and out of the compartment, tightly clutching the borrowed shirt to her bruised body. She began to stagger around, screaming to be let off of the RV.

The wrecked motor home shuddered in protest at the shifting weight causing Morgan’s anxiety level to spike sharply. In response, the words he spoke next sounded much harsher than it would normally with a traumatized victim.

“Stand still, Cynthia. Look at me.” Morgan held up his hands. “You want to get off of this RV, I hear you. I do too, and so does my friend in there. Please...just stand still for a moment.” He extended his hand to the hysterical girl , forcing his lips into a smile. But it was a tight, desperate one, obscuring the intended sign of encouragement. “C’mon. Just give me your hand, and I’ll help you off.” 

Morgan held his breath and waited, not knowing how long the RV would stay poised on the edge. _C’mon, C’mon._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://romanseartfanfic.com
> 
> Happy Valentine's Day to any readers out there! Spread some love and drop a note!


	16. Chapter 16

He breathed easier when Cynthia stopped her wild pacing. The young prostitute, shaking like a leaf and looking on the verge of collapse, finally took his hand. Morgan gently led her to the edge of the tire. Holding her by her arms, he lowered the girl down into the waiting arms of one of the paramedics standing by. 

The minute the girl was out of his arms, all thoughts of her vanished from Morgan’s mind. He immediately turned and began to maneuver his body into the compartment, blocking out the urgent calls from the rescue personal below to remove himself from the RV. 

He was halfway through the space, his legs dangling below him. Carefully, Morgan eased his body all the way inside the wrecked carcass of the RV. 

Quickly, he assessed the situation. 

There was a large hole ripped through the motor home’s metal siding one foot from where he’d jumped. He had only to look down to be able to see clear through to the underpass below. Morgan realized that he’d only narrowly avoided falling through the hole, but the thought was fleeting. 

He continued on with his visual assessment. Broken, jagged pieces of metal, wood and steel were everywhere, bared like shark’s teeth ready to rip flesh and blood. Morgan began to gingerly pick his way through the dangerous gauntlet. 

He temporarily froze in place when he heard a noise and felt a reverberating, thumping motion coming from the rear of the RV. He didn’t know it, but the fire and rescue personnel were at that moment, trying to secure strong cables to the back of the RV in order to prevent its inevitable plunge over the edge.   
Then and only then would the EMTs deem it safe to enter.

Cautiously, he resumed walking forward, calling out to Reid between harsh breaths. He was sweating profusely, feeling most unwell inside the rank, gory interior. Moisture dripped down his brow, neck and bare chest. His eyes stung when drops of sweat seeped in and he took an annoyed swipe at his face. 

He pressed on, determined to find Reid, yet his strong heart was hammering and filled with a gnawing dread. What he’d seen of the UnSub’s gruesome fate was enough fodder for many nightmares. Would he find Reid’s body, a horribly disfigured mass of mangled, lifeless flesh and bone?

A second later, Morgan had his answer. 

Reid’s crumpled, still form lay half-hidden underneath the diner table which had been flung off its metal stand to land wedged between the buckled bulkhead and two extended kitchen drawers. The only thing Morgan could clearly see of Reid’s injuries was that the young man’s face was bloody from a nasty laceration at the right temple. 

Seemingly instantly he was at Reid’s side, crouched low and feeling with shaking fingers for a pulse on the exposed part of the too pale neck. There it was, thready and weak, but still there. _Thank you, God..._ The relief that flooded his heart was short-lived. He wasn’t a medic and Reid needed help now. 

“Agent Morgan! Agent Morgan!” 

From somewhere outside the sound of his name filtered down from above, and Morgan answered back, his voice slightly shaky. It was a gung-ho, young EMT who’d defied his supervisor to climb atop the unsteady RV. 

“Are you with the victim?” the EMT called.

“Yes. He’s hurt bad and there’s a table wedged in on top of him. I’m trying to move it, but it’s jammed in tight.” 

“Is the victim conscious?” 

“No,” Morgan shouted tersely. He was trying in vain to apply his strength to push back the drawers so that he could then move the wedged table. One drawer moved in about two inches before it would go no more and the other refused to budge - something was jamming the drawer from inside. 

Frustrated, his anxiety mounting by the second, he yelled, “I need some help in here now!”

The voice answered back, steeped with regret. “I will, just as soon as they finish securing the back end. I’m sorry, they won‘t let anybody come down until then.” 

Just then Morgan heard a low, moan - a sound full of misery and pain.   
Reid’s long, brown eyelashes laying across the pale, bloody face begun to flutter like butterflies and his breath came in shallow pants. Gently, Morgan moved the blood-soaked hair out of the way as the eyelids parted, revealing dazed, pain-filled, hazel eyes with uneven pupils. 

Morgan’s lips compressed into a worried frown. Spencer was clearly suffering from a concussion. 

“D-d-derek?” 

“Yeah, it’s me. I’m here.” Morgan smiled down at him reassuringly, all the while working to free the table from another angle. He desperately hoped that Reid would remain oblivious to the depth of the peril he was in, but that was not to be when the RV shuddered ominously. 

“I can’t breathe.” Reid’s voice was tight with pain. 

“I know. Just hold on and I’m going to get you out of here.” 

Reid looked around, terror clearly showing in his eyes. Even so, he fixed his gaze on Morgan’s face, drawing strength from the beloved features. When he spoke next it was with a measured calm through his tortured breathing. “Y-y-you can’t.”

“Don’t talk, Spencer.” 

The slender frame convulsed when a harsh cough wracked his lungs. Reid whimpered in acute distress and tears ran from the tightly closed eyes. 

Morgan’s stomach lurched when the RV’s teetering increased and he re-doubled his efforts to un-jam the extended drawer that was keeping the table wedged in place. 

“Agent Morgan! The voice, no longer coming from above, yelled. “The RV is too unstable, you need to exit immediately!”

“Forget it!” Morgan yelled back. 

Reid’s eyes snapped open. “D-derek,” the injured young man whispered.

Morgan heard the calm despair and he knew, he just _knew_ what Spencer was about to say. He closed his heart to it, and he kept on working as though he’d heard nothing, but his ears heard Spencer’s plea anyway and he couldn’t escape the power of those wounded eyes overflowing with resignation and profound love for him. 

“You c-can’t s-stay. P-please, Derek...go. D-don’t die h-here.” 

Morgan shook his head and smiled grimly. “Like hell.” All of his instincts were screaming at him, telling him that the clock had run out and they were working on borrowed time. Morgan lay flat on his back, took a deep breath, and began to exert the athletic strength of his muscular legs to move the stuck table. Straining, he bit his lip as he focused all of his energy, every sense, upon the task. His world narrowed down to the urgent need to pop that table top up and off of his injured lover. 

He heard and felt the chains from the back end fall to the pavement and the bumper separate from the RV. Morgan was very nearly in a state of panic now, the RV end started to rise up - but this time it didn’t lower again. 

Reid’s eyes were impossibly wide with terror and possibly shock. _Please go._   
Spencer’s lips moved, but no sound came out. 

“Stay with me, Spencer!” Morgan said, his voice hard and demanding.  
Frantic now, he shoved at the tabletop with all his might. Time was up for cautious, slow movements. He was looking into the face of eternity and he knew in a matter of seconds he would be plunged along with Reid down to their deaths. He reached back for the faith of his childhood that had wavered as an adult - and found it. His prayer was short and directly to the point. _Help me!_

Later, when asked, he would say that he didn’t know what happened. That wasn’t entirely a lie. How does one explain the unexplainable? For that matter, why attempt to bind a miracle and package it within the constraints of conventional wisdom? The only thing he knew was that his body, depleted of energy, weakened by his recent bout of illness, could not budge the wedged table. He was going to die and that was that.

But he’d go down fighting for himself and the man he loved.

He felt a strange, warm energy and, as if on their own accord, his tired legs gave one last push. The table that had been so firmly wedged in place effortlessly lifted up. The effect was instantaneous. He moved with reflexes not taxed so since his days of playing college ball. He snatched Reid by the armpits, wincing as the young man cried out in agony and went limp in his arms. 

He had but one plan, one destination that would lead them to life. There wasn’t even time to contemplate whether his rough handling of Reid’s body would be the cause of his death should his plan in getting them out of there succeed. 

Daylight showed through the jagged, ripped hole in the RV. It was an uphill crawl with Morgan hauling Reid’s broken form with him. There was a terrible noise of scraping wreckage over concrete and exposed steel beams. It was the sound of the RV in its death throes. 

Morgan yelled and in one final push, shoved his body and Reid’s through the hole, closing his eyes tight against the rush of wreckage that rose steadily up into the air and over the side of the overpass. As they fell, Morgan held Reid wrapped tightly in his arms. 

Without a second thought he used his body to cushion the injured man’s fall. Morgan’s buttocks and bare back hit the wet pavement and he cried out when the bone-jarring pain flooded his system. His vision grayed out along the edges and still, he did not let go of his precious burden. He lay there, unable to move, staring up at the dreary sky as the cold rain fell.

He thought it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen right before he passed out cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm...I guess it's ok to write a note for myself. Not having read this for a very long, I remember that this was one of my very favorite chapters to write. 
> 
> http://romansearfanfic.com


	17. Chapter 17

The emergency personnel who had assessed the situation and deemed it too dangerous to enter the RV had, up until now, been mostly watching with a great deal of frustration. Standing by while innocent lives were in danger went against their collective nature. They’d done their best to secure the RV, but when the back end gave way, all they could do was watch helplessly in despair as the teetering wreck shuddered, rising high in the air only to finally topple over the edge of the overpass. There was a terrible din of scraping metal against cement followed by a thunderous explosion that shot a brilliant fireball of flames 100 feet into the air. 

The one brash paramedic who had dared to jump atop the RV before it plunged was the first to see the two, bloody bodies lying on the ground not moving. “Oh my God! They didn‘t go over the side!” the young paramedic cried, alerting the other paramedics. He grabbed his medical equipment and ran full-speed towards the injured men. 

He practically skidded to a stop, dropping to his knees, visually taking in the condition of the two men. The black agent whom he had briefly talked to was on his back, a crimson tide spreading out from beneath. The agent’s muscular arms were wrapped tightly around the body of a slender, young man whose hair hung limp and wet from the blood that was pouring out from a head wound. It was clear that the man on the bottom had used his own body to shield the other man’s. Even as the paramedic began his medical assessment, his mind and body operating like a well-oiled machine from the discipline of training, his mind unconsciously remarked upon the poignancy of the strangely intimate embrace in which the men were locked. 

In the blink of an eye, the other paramedics swarmed around the injured men, springing into action with skilled hands, gently separating the two, checking airways and vital signs. 

********

Morgan’s unconscious state was a blessing. He lay unaware when his arms were pried apart, allowing Reid’s injured form to be taken from his care. When a paramedic’s voice, made tense with professional urgency, called out that Reid was in respiratory arrest, Morgan was blissfully oblivious.

The ensuing drama of the paramedics fighting for Reid’s life went on without Morgan’s conscious presence. 

He didn’t see the ventilation mask placed over Reid’s mouth and nose, or the hand that began its steady squeezing of the bag to pre-oxygenate Reid’s lungs, one of which had deflated when the jagged edge of a broken rib punctured it. 

Morgan was spared the sight of a paramedic tilting Reid’s head back, holding his head in place while a curved instrument was inserted into his mouth and an endotracheal tube snaked down his esophagus.

The dark place held Morgan insensate as Reid’s body was quickly and efficiently immobilized and readied on a backboard for transport in the first ambulance. 

Had Morgan been aware of any of that, he would have fought like a mad man to stay by Reid’s side. As it was, he didn’t even feel the pain as his lacerated and scraped back was lifted from the hard concrete, leaving bits of his skin and flesh behind like a sacrificial offering. He too was fitted with a neck collar and his body strapped to a backboard before being placed in a second ambulance and whisked away to Mercy General. 

It was somewhere in route when the veil of quiet blackness parted, allowing a red haze of pain and confusion to flood in. Morgan’s eyes blinked open and he found himself looking straight up into the faces of two paramedics who were looking down at him. He recognized by the loud wail of the siren and the gentle swaying of the gurney that he was strapped to that he was in an ambulance, but precisely why was beyond his current mental calculations. 

All at once the floodgates of reason opened up and a keen terror seized him.   
There was an oxygen mask over his face and he shoved it impatiently to the side. “Reid? Where‘s Reid?” he demanded frantically, his voice sounding rough and hoarse.

“Just relax, Agent Morgan. Your friend is in another ambulance headed to the same place you are.”

Morgan blinked. His head ached and his stomach felt sour with a return of his earlier sickness. He closed his eyes. “How bad?” he whispered. 

“You did a pretty good number on your back. You’re going to be hurting for a few days,” the paramedic replied, misunderstanding Morgan’s question.

Morgan tried again. He raised his hand and grasped the arm of the nearest paramedic. He wondered why he felt so disconnected from his own limb, as though it belonged to someone else. “Reid. How’s Reid?” he whispered, even more anxious to hear about the condition of the younger man.

The face looking down at Morgan assumed a compassionate expression, he wasn‘t about to tell _his_ patient that a mechanical device was breathing for his friend. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any information on the other patient. For right now, let’s just concentrate on taking care of you.”

The other paramedic began to ask him questions, assessing his level of awareness. Morgan answered everything while gradually, his pounding heart began to calm amidst the spinning in his head. Then a dark lassitude stole over him stealing his consciousness away once more.

 

*******

_Earlier That Day_

Aaron Hotchner stood in the corner of Garcia’s hi-tech office, a silent presence of carefully controlled coiled tension. He, along with Gideon, Prentiss and Jareau were all gathered there as the highway drama involving two of his agents and the UnSub unfolded. 

There was no mistaking the tension emanating from that area of the room.

“JJ, we need that license plate number,” Hotchner quietly demanded. 

“Yes sir,” JJ replied, “the state police haven’t called that in yet and my call’s not going through to Morgan.” 

Earlier, Penelope Garcia had connected JJ with the liaison for the Virginia State Police via computer. JJ’s counterpart, a middle-aged man named Trooper Callahan, had readily shared what real-time information there was regarding the chase as he monitored the state police radio traffic. 

JJ was standing silently behind Garcia, appearing to still be looking intently over the analyst’s shoulder at the monitor that had gone blank after Trooper Callahan had disconnected the video call, having had nothing more to immediately relay. Unknown to Jareau, her presence was both a source of support to the analyst as well as anxiety for JJ, while being a consummate professional, was also a young woman who cared deeply about her friends. The young agent was on edge and transmitting her anxiety to Garcia who in turn, couldn’t even pretend to be dispassionate about having to wait to be re-contacted with a real-time update. 

The phone rang and JJ practically leapt to answer it, nearly dropping it when she heard Morgan’s voice. “Morgan! Where are you?” She paused to listen intently to whatever Morgan was saying before hurriedly grabbing a pad and pencil. “He’s giving me the license plate of the RV,” JJ hurriedly exclaimed.

“Put him on speaker phone,” Gideon requested. 

JJ did so and she heard Morgan’s steady but clearly adrenalin-pumped voice, already half-way through mid-way through his recitation of the New Jersey license plate. 

“Got it!” JJ acknowledged. “Morgan -” Derek’s name was all the blonde agent could get out before they heard Morgan’s car horn blaring. There was a thumping sound followed by a remote-sounding curse from Morgan. Despite JJ’s repeated shouts of Morgan’s name, the senior agent’s voice was not heard again. 

Garcia felt sick with worry. Something had happened and every fiber in her being was telling her that it wasn’t good. “Garcia,” Hotchner’s voice penetrated through the despair. The implied command contained in the simple vocalization of her name was enough to propel her into action. Penelope Garcia’s fingers flew over the keyboard, pulling up and extracting information from the New Jersey DMV data system. 

A split second of data rolled down the screen before a match between the license plate number and registrant names appeared. Garcia silently read the names displayed. “No! No way!” the blonde quietly gasped, her eyes wide as she turned to Hotchner. “The DMV records indicate the RV is registered to Vern and Sylvia Anne Krueger.”

“What?” There was no mistaking the uncommon display of shocked surprise on the senior supervisory agent’s face. “Let me see.” Gideon said. “It’s not Vern Krueger,” he murmured as he read for himself the displayed information. Gideon spoke, more loudly this time, “It’s not Vern Krueger. The man goes into work six days a week. He practically lives in his office.” 

Hotchner glanced at his watch. “It’s past opening time at Olympus Chemical.”

“Time for another chat with Vern and Sylvia,” Gideon said grimly. 

“Wait.” Hotchner requested. “Garcia, run Vern and Sylvia Krueger through the system. Dig until you find the connection between them and whoever’s driving that RV.

“You know I’m all over that,” Garcia replied, glad to be doing what she did best. Her fingers flew over the keyboards, knowing exactly how to search for and extract information on the Kruegers while Gideon waited, head slightly bowed, hands in his pockets. 

She didn’t have to look far.

Detailed data began to display across the monitor: Dates of birth...present and past home addresses...offspring. 

The name Danny Krueger popped up and for the second time that day, Garcia’s world rocked. 

“Danny Krueger!” the blonde exclaimed

Gideon’s head snapped up. “Danny?” 

Garcia began rapidly reading. “Yes, uhm, Danny Krueger, forty-six year old -”  
“Son of Vern and Sylvia Anne Krueger. Son of a bitch!” Gideon swore softly, intuitively guessing what Garcia was about to say.

Hotchner exchanged a knowing look with the older, experienced man who   
was technically his subordinate but also his friend who he deeply respected. He knew exactly what Gideon was feeling. Rage. Disbelief. Professional guilt that he had been the one to travel to the company and yet had come away without the slightest clue that the son of the owners was apparently also a delivery driver for the company. 

The unspoken exchange between the two agents was not lost on the observant JJ. There was no time to reflect on the observation though, for just then the computer video connection between the BAU and the Virginia State Police activated and JJ’s liaison counterpart, looking grim-faced, appeared.

“The vehicle chase has terminated,” Trooper Callahan said, without preamble.

Garcia paled, petrified but determined to ask, “Terminated? As in your officers forced the RV carrying our agent off the road?”

“Not quite. As in the suspect violently crashed the vehicle through a construction site barrier for an overpass. The RV rolled and sustained serious damage. I doubt if anyone inside could escape that uninjured.” Trooper Callahan paused for a moment while he listened to the evolving situation via his ear-piece. “Things have just gotten worse.”

“What’s going on, Trooper Callahan?” JJ asked.

“It appears that the RV is badly damaged and barely balanced on the edge of an unfinished overpass with a 75-foot drop.”

“Oh my God!” Garcia gasped.

“Where is Agent Morgan?” Hotchner asked, focused, grimly intent.

“At the crash site.”

“Where? Where is the crash site?” Prentiss asked, her eyes dark with worry. 

“Two and a half miles away from exit 98.”

Hotchner was already moving. “I’ll make arrangements to get us out there in a chopper. The rest of you, except Garcia, get ready to roll.” 

It wasn’t long before the BAU’s Unit Chief returned. “We have a chopper and pilot standing by. Let’s go.” 

As one they moved to depart the office and board the chopper, moving to get on-scene as quickly as possible. Garcia had looked particularly stricken with the knowledge that it was her duty to remain behind when all she desperately wanted to do was go and be with the people she considered her family. 

JJ tried to console the analyst with a hasty promise to keep in touch via phone. With that, the rest of the BAU team departed, leaving Garcia standing alone, biting her lip. 

 

*******

Unknown to both Morgan and Reid, their teammates were converging on the area of the wreck. But even the swift flight via chopper was not fast enough to get them there to bear witness to Morgan’s courageous rescue of Reid. They all saw from the air the remains of what had clearly been a fiery wreckage smoldering below the unfinished overpass and the resulting traffic that was backed up for miles. 

The black FBI SUV was still on the overpass along with two fire trucks and a half-dozen local and state police squad cars. There were even more emergency and police vehicles on the ground below. 

The tension in the chopper was a thick, living thing. 

No one said anything. It wasn’t necessary to speak aloud the obvious question: Had Reid been in that RV went it fell? If so, the BAU had surely lost its youngest, brightest member. The loss would be unimaginable. And what of Morgan? JJ had tried repeatedly to reach him by phone but to no avail. 

The pilot expertly guided the chopper to an area with enough clearance to safely land. He set the chopper down gently just on the outskirts of chaos. 

In the next few minutes they would know whether or not the BAU, as they knew it, had survived intact, or if their odd little family of sorts would be forever changed. 

 

*******

It was an intensely focused group that eventually descended upon Mercy General. The officers at the scene had informed them that Morgan and Reid had been taken to the hospital, though none seemed willing to offer any specific observations as to their condition. 

The SUV Morgan and Reid had taken from Quantico was driven down from the overpass and handed over to Hotchner. 

Once the others had gotten into the SUV, one Virginia State police car and one sheriff’s Deputy car escorted them through the back roads to get to the hospital. As soon as the BAU team arrived at the emergency room, Hotchner and Gideon had identified themselves and sought information on the status of their team members, as well as the victim, Cynthia Moore. 

Meanwhile, Prentiss and Jareau staked out territory on the hard, unyielding plastic waiting room chairs. It was probably going to be long wait and in the meantime the others, particularly JJ, waited for the inevitable horde of local law enforcement and media to descend. 

Eventually, Hotchner and Gideon came back to where Prentiss and Jareau were seated. Hotchner looked grim and Gideon’s dark, expressive eyes were clouded with concern. Not unexpectedly, the available information had been frustratingly sparse. Reid, they’d learned was in critical condition and the trauma team doctors were still trying to stabilize him. They knew that he had suffered a pneumothorax and that his left hand had sustained serious injury. An orthopedic surgeon had been called in to consult on if and when surgery would be necessary to repair the damage. Morgan, they were advised, was also in the emergency room being treated for non-life threatening injuries to his back. Cynthia was in serious condition, but expected to recover, at least physically. 

Hotchner was on standby, waiting for someone to come and escort him into the trauma room and to Morgan’s cubicle. A few minutes later, two state troopers and two local county sheriff’s deputies who had escorted them to the hospital walked in and made their way over. 

“We’ve heard about your work in the FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit,.” one man, an older, seasoned trooper stated. 

“Glad to help when we can.” Gideon responded. 

Introductions were quickly made before moving on to the officers’ agenda. 

“I suppose you know the identity of the man driving that motor home?” asked one of the sheriff’s deputies bluntly. 

“Yes, we know. Danny Krueger, son of the owners of Olympus Chemical.” Hotchner focused his attention on the deputy. The deputy, tough and experienced as he was, shifted under the intensity of the piercing gaze. 

“We’d like to get statements from your men. How are they doing?” the senior trooper asked respectfully. 

“Agent Morgan is injured, but from what we’ve been told, he should be fine. Agent Reid‘s injuries are more serious.” Hotchner replied with deliberate vagueness. 

“We’re just waiting for someone to come out and escort Agent Hotchner to see Agent Morgan,” JJ stated. 

As if on cue, a tall, male nurse walked out of the trauma room and came directly over the small, gathered group. “Which one of you would like to come in and check on Agent Morgan?”

“I would,” Hotchner indicated.

“Follow me, sir.”

Immediately, Hotchner followed the nurse, not even a sparing his team a backwards glance. He disappeared behind the heavy double doors with his teammates looking after him.

********

 

Derek Morgan hated hospitals. He couldn’t stand the cold, the antiseptic smell, or the loss of control they represented. Right now he was being prevented from doing what he needed to do, which was get up and see with his own eyes that the young genius still lived. 

Immediately upon arrival, they’d been whisked off to separate treatment areas in the emergency room and a shock trauma team summoned to see to Reid. When Morgan had once again come to it was to the frightening sounds of an unseen struggle going on somewhere beyond his own curtained-off cubicle. 

Now Morgan was sitting almost upright in the gurney, waiting impatiently. A nurse had swathed his torso in bandages and x-rays of his neck and spine had been taken as a precaution. 

At the moment he was feeling no pain. The strong analgesic masked both the discomfort and the strong, medicinal odor of the antiseptic that had been liberally applied to his back after it had been thoroughly cleaned. 

The nurse had clucked her tongue in sympathy at the sight of the flesh that had been rendered a bloody mess from when his harsh connection with the pavement down below had literally scraped the skin off his back. 

Just then, Morgan looked up to see the curtain around the cubical pushed back and the emergency room doctor who had been attending him enter. He was closely followed by a concerned looking Aaron Hotchner. The reserved man whom strangers often thought of as cold and unemotional looked unashamedly relieved to see him. “How are you feeling, Derek?” he asked as he stepped closer in. 

“I’m good,” Morgan answered from the benefit of his drug-induced comfort. “Glad to be alive,” he amended. “Hotch, how’s Reid? I keep asking, but they won‘t tell me anything.” 

The attending physician whose name tag read, “Dr. Miller” interrupted before Hotchner could answer. “Agent Morgan, I know you are anxious to check on your friend, but first let me finish up a few things with you so you can get out of here, okay?”

“That sounds good, doc,” Morgan said warily. He _was_ anxious to leave. He might be a little banged-up, but overall he was feeling remarkably well, his earlier illness forgotten in his concern over Reid.

“Your x-ray films have come back and I’m pleased to say that everything looks fine. You’re going to be sore for quite a while. No doubt you’ll have some spectacular soft-tissue bruising and pain from the severe abrasions and lacerations. I’ve prescribed Darvocet for pain management as needed. Infection is a key concern. You need to take all of the antibiotics until they run out. Do not discontinue the antibiotics early just because you feel fine and have no fever. Change your dressings every other day and be sure to apply the topical ointment I’m going to prescribe. Do you have any questions?”

“No. Thank you, Dr. Miller.” 

Hotchner turned to the doctor. “Would it be possible to get him something to wear?” 

“Sure, I’ll get someone to bring a spare scrub shirt and your discharge papers. I can appreciate the fact that you probably don’t want to talk to the officers outside while you’re half-dressed.” 

Morgan groaned out loud. “How many are out there?”

“Two state troopers, two sheriff’s deputies. No media yet,” Hotchner answered. 

Dr. Miller then stuck out his arm and shook Morgan’s hand. “Take care of yourself, Agent Morgan. It’s a hell of a thing you did today.” Dr. Miller quickly left the cubicle. 

Morgan carefully swung his legs over the side of the exam bed, swaying ever so slightly as he flexed his feet. Hotchner was quick to reach out a steadying hand. “Easy,” he said. 

The tall male nurse returned. He entered the cubicle and handed over a green scrub shirt to Morgan, followed by a clipboard with a stack of papers. “Thanks for the shirt,” Morgan said. 

“No problem.” The nurse nodded at him and left. 

Morgan’s attempt to pull the shirt over his head was a painful, slow thing to watch. He gratefully accepted Hotchner’s silent offer of help as the other man gently placed the shirt over his head, allowing him to draw his arms through the sleeves. Then Hotchner eased the shirt over Morgan’s bandaged torso. 

“Let’s go.” Morgan was relieved to push back the curtain and walk slowly out of the cubicle where he’d come to consciousness only to be poked, prodded, x-rayed, stitched, cleaned, and bandaged. 

*******

 

The gloved, gowned and masked trauma team that swarmed around the still, broken form of the slender young man moved like a well-choreographed ballet. A lab technician skillfully drew Reid’s blood. The radiologist began taking a series of x-rays utilizing a portable machine while an anesthesiologist began his assessment. A CT scan was ordered while the still bleeding wound on Reid’s forehead was treated.

Dr. Anna Mallory, 45-year-old trauma team surgeon looked down at her newest patient. Her steady hands worked with all the skill that the thousands and thousands of hard-earned dollars her parents had invested in so many years ago. Her patient was not breathing on his own. The paramedic continued to pump the bag that was supplying life-giving oxygen to the young man. “Let’s get him on the ventilator. Ready?” The paramedic nodded while removing the mask obscuring Reid’s face. 

She looked down at the bloody face, so young, and achingly beautiful. As Dr. Mallory began connecting the ventilator, she wondered how this youth before her could possibly be old enough to be a special agent with the FBI - and with a doctorate to boot she’d been told. 

“We’re going to need an OR,” Mallory called out. Her patient’s collapsed right lung would have to be reinflated in a surgical procedure requiring a sterile environment. Meanwhile, Dr. James Starling, an orthopedic surgeon, was examining the x-rays of Reid’s broken left hand. 

“I’m going to have to operate if he’s ever going to have full use of his hand again,” Starling remarked to Mallory. 

Mallory looked at the grossly swollen hand. “I was pretty sure it would, Jimmy.” Starling was one of the best; she had every confidence in her colleague’s surgical skills. Mallory tracked the equipment monitoring her patient’s vital signs, pleased with the readings. She looked at her team members. “He’s stable enough to move. Let’s roll, people.” 

*******

 

“Derek!” Emily Prentiss spied Morgan shuffling towards them, with Hotchner walking next to him. She and JJ rose from their chairs at the same time and jointly, gently enveloped him in a hug which he returned gratefully.  
“Thank God you’re okay!” Prentiss declared. The dark-haired young woman, being somewhat more naturally reserved, immediately flushed slightly before releasing her hold on him. Morgan understood and gave his friend a look that he hoped expressed that it was okay to show that she cared. 

“Are you in much pain?” JJ asked softly.

“Not at the moment. But I wouldn’t count on that being true three hours from now,” he answered as he eased his bandaged body into one of the vacated chairs. “How’s Reid?” he asked Gideon directly.

“He’s not breathing on his own. He was taken into surgery while Hotch was in with you,” Gideon answered with equal directness. 

The world tilted. Morgan wanted to scream, to rail against the fear of Reid possibly dying on the operating table after he had fought to literally snatch both of their lives from the jaws of Death. He took a deep breath knowing he had to maintain control of his emotions. No one but Garcia knew about his relationship with Reid, that they loved each other. If Reid were to die, Morgan knew he wouldn’t be alone in grieving for the young genius, but he’d surely be alone in the unique nature of his grief.

Morgan was forced to mentally refocus as Gideon introduced the four local law enforcement officers who were standing nearby. “They want to talk to you, Morgan. Are you up to it?” Gideon asked. 

“I’m up to it, but first tell me who the hell the creep was who tortured and murdered those women?” 

“His name is Danny Krueger. He was the son of the owners of Olympus Chemical,” Gideon explained. 

“He was damn near decapitated,” Morgan said coolly. He was seething in anger with a rage deep inside him that was about to explode, and he knew it.   
He chose to walk away, rather than say another word. He headed stiffly towards the waiting officers, wanting to get the interview over with as soon as possible. 

Prentiss was looking in his direction at his retreating form. Suddenly she turned to the team, her eyes expressing the uncertainty of her concern. “Does he look all right to you?”

“He had the skin stripped off his back and he’s in pain,” Hotchner replied abruptly in that way he had of signaling that someone had asked an unnecessary question.

“That’s not what I mean,” Prentiss answered. The dark-haired woman pursed her lips as she looked again in Morgan’s direction, not liking what she saw, but she kept her own counsel concerning it.

By the time Morgan shuffled back and eased himself into a chair, all but JJ had settled down in their own chairs for the long wait. She’d gone outside to call Garcia on her cell phone and give the analyst a much appreciated update. It wouldn’t be long before the work day would be over and then Garcia could join them at the hospital. 

Morgan closed his eyes, willing the unwell feeling that was creeping over him to go away. His body, he knew, had been stressed and the pain meds were already starting to gradually fade but still, all he could think was, _I don’t have time for this. Reid needs me._ He ignored the sporadic attempts to engage him in conversation and simply sat, enduring the agony of an endless circle of ‘what if’s’. 

Time crawled along, one minute after the next, one hour crept after the other in a race it could never win. 

Despite the anxious thoughts weighing on his mind and emotions, Morgan’s eyelids slowly closed and before long he dozed off.

 

*******

“Morgan. Morgan.” He heard and felt someone calling his name and gently shaking his arm. His eyes snapped open and with a groan he sat up, not immediately recognizing where he was. 

His back ached with deep tendrils of fire but when he saw the warm compassionate face of Penelope Garcia looking at him with such enormous eyes, he temporarily forgot his pain while his befuddled mind tried to figure out just how the spunky woman had materialized in front of him. 

“Derek Morgan, am I glad to see you!” Garcia squeezed his hand with a great deal of enthusiasm. She was grinning from ear to ear, but it looked very much like a smile induced by equal parts stress and relief. 

She kissed him on the cheek. “Don’t you dare ever do that to me again! Oh God, what am I saying? You saved Reid’s life. Of course you can do that again,” she babbled on, clearly flustered. 

Morgan barely caught her mumbled, “I’m so sorry...” 

The fog around Morgan’s mind started to lift and he smiled with genuine affection. “Whoa, Baby Girl, don’t apologize. I’m sorry we put you through that.” 

“Reid’s out of surgery,” Garcia blurted out suddenly. 

The residual fog lifted completely from Morgan’s mind and he automatically looked over at Hotchner and Gideon for confirmation.

“He’s in ICU for the next 24 hours, then he’ll be moved to a regular room if all goes well according to Dr. Mallory,” Gideon advised. “Dr. Mallory is sending someone to take me up there.”

“No! I’m going!” Morgan vehemently cried. Despite the burning pain in his back, he practically leaped to his feet. He _had_ to see Reid. He needed to be there, to see for himself that the younger man still breathed and that his heart still beat. It was a knee-jerk reaction that had the others, except for Garcia, staring at him in shocked silence, taken aback by Morgan‘s emotional response. 

Hotchner started to speak, but Gideon’s silent communication killed the words right in his mouth. “Okay,” Gideon quietly agreed. The older man was looking at Morgan with an unreadable expression and at first, all Morgan could do was stare back with a mixture of relief and chagrin at his outburst. 

“Thank you,” Morgan said simply. 

Before anyone could say anything else, a hospital volunteer came by, ready for ICU escort duty. A grateful Morgan swallowed his rising nausea and began walking painfully behind. He briefly wondered why everything to his vision seemed so far away before the nebulous thought drifted away as the elevator whisked him up to fourth floor and ICU.


	18. Chapter 18

ICU was a place that quietly buzzed with high-tech efficiency. The volunteer who’d escorted Derek Morgan up, walked him over to the medical monitoring station and informed one of the nurses of who he was and who he was there to see. 

The middle-aged nurse with sharp eyes and a ready smile came out from around the station. “I’ll take you to him,” she said. 

She started off at a brisk pace with Morgan tiredly trailing after her, gamely trying and failing to match her pace. The nurse turned around and did a double-take as she took in the sight of him. He hadn’t thought about how he must look to others with his barely-concealed bandages, dried residual blood, and torn, dirty jeans. 

He wasn’t thinking about it now. 

If Morgan noticed how the nurse’s kind smile faltered and was replaced with a concerned expression, he gave no indication, but rather kept on walking, doggedly putting one foot in front of the other until suddenly he was there outside the glass-enclosed space that was Spencer Reid’s, looking in on a sight he never ever wanted to see again in his lifetime. 

He couldn’t move. 

The form in the bed was Spencer Reid all right, but that was not his friend, his soon-to-be- lover whose eyes always sparkled with lively intelligence just above a shy, awkward smile. 

The still form lying before him was like an inanimate wax doll whose only movement came from lungs being inflated with each hissing sound emanating by the forced mechanical breathing. 

Spencer’s normally fair face was washed-out, practically colorless against the sterile whiteness of the pillowcase upon which his head rested. The bandage wrapped around his head hid the damage of a deep gash that had bathed Reid’s face and front with in a fountain of red blood. His arm with the splinted, broken hand lay straight out and elevated upon a large pillow. 

Morgan took in the sight of Reid’s slender form whose bared flesh exposed above the thin blanket covering it bore such stark witness to the physical abuse it had suffered. Morgan had never thought of the slenderness of Reid’s body as anything but healthy and natural for him, but here in this setting it was a stark visualization of Reid’s fragility. The shock was like a sharp, hot knife, slicing through muscle and bone, filleting him. Making him fearful for his friend’s life. 

The spectacular array of deep bruising on Reid’s naked torso would have been in and of itself enough to horrify Morgan, but he was spared that particular sight by the bandages that were bound around him, supporting his broken ribs and hiding most of the damage. But he was not spared the sight of the chest tube that sprouted from the battered chest, carrying away its pink, frothy discharge, nor could he avoid the other leads and wires attached to his friend’s body that were connected to the low-beeping monitors.

As if sensing Morgan’s deep distress, the nurse turned to him and smiled encouragingly. “Go ahead. It’s not as bad as it looks. Everything that’s broken will eventually heal. We just want to keep a close eye on Dr. Reid for a few hours and then he’ll be moved to a regular room.” 

Morgan took a deep breath. “You’re right.” He nodded his head towards Reid. “He’s one of the strongest people I know.”

The kind nurse winked at Morgan conspiratorially, “Standard ICU visiting hours are five minutes on the hour. Since it’s well past that, I’ll let you stay for ten.” 

“Thank you,” Morgan replied gratefully. The nurse patted his arm gently and then left. Now alone with Reid, Morgan took the one soft-padded chair and brought it close to his bedside. Gently Morgan took the good hand in his and gave it a loving caress, mindful of the IV tube piercing Reid’s hand. 

“Spencer, I know you can’t hear me, but it’s Morgan. Maybe wherever you are right now you can sense that I’m here. I just want you to know that I’m fine and you’re gonna be just fine too. I didn’t let you go in the RV and I’m not letting you go now. ” Morgan paused, looking intently at the still, pale face, hoping against hope for any movement, anything that would indicate that the man he loved had heard him and was coming back. But there was nothing.

“It’s all right,” Morgan said soothingly. “I know you’re tired. Just rest and come back when you feel strong enough.”

Morgan sighed and closed his eyes, concentrating on the feel of life in the slim hand. “It’s been a hell of a day, Baby.,” he murmured. “You figured out who the UnSub was and because of you, Cynthia Moore’s alive.” He forced his tired eyes open. “I _am_ proud of you, but I swear to God, if you ever go Lone Ranger on me like that again, I’ll kick your intellectual behind all the way to Mars.”

Morgan glanced at the clock and groaned inwardly - the minutes seemed to have gone by with increased speed. It seemed as though he’d just gotten there and soon he’d have to leave and everything inside was telling him not to go, that Spencer needed him. As if in confirmation, the lax hand inside of his twitched ever so slightly.

Morgan jolted, the aching tiredness vanished as all senses went on full alert at once. He didn’t doubt what he’d felt. No way had he imagined the movement. Nonetheless, still holding on to Reid’s hand, he rose from the chair and leaned over, his face close to Spencer’s. “Do it again, Spencer. C’mon, it’s time to wake up,” he passionately urged.

Yes! He was rewarded when Reid’s eyes began to flicker, the long eyelashes beginning to flutter like brown butterflies. “That’s it, you can do it.” Morgan was ecstatic when finally the eyelids parted, revealing Reid’s beautiful hazel eyes, looking at him with dazed confusion. 

Morgan’s grin was wide, but all too fleeting in the wake of Reid’s growing awareness. A fearful expression suddenly crossed Reid’s pale face. The look in his eyes communicated eloquently, without words, what must be his terror at waking up to the feel of some hard, unyielding obstruction down his throat, unable to speak as air was being forced into his lungs at precise intervals. 

Panic seized Reid and unthinking of the injury to his hand, he attempted to bring both hands up to pull at the respirator tube. He flailed in pain when his good hand bumped into the injured one sending fiery agony through his arm. That didn‘t stop him from trying to carry out his desperate mission. It was only the lighting fast reflexes of Morgan that halted Reid’s frantic attempt to pull out the breathing tube. 

“Reid! Reid! Stop!” Morgan urged, his own hands captured Reid’s stilling their frantic movement. “You’re on a respirator - your lung collapsed and this is helping you heal. Can you understand me?” 

Reid froze in place, frightened eyes wide, tracking Morgan. Then Reid closed his eyes, but the action wasn’t enough to hold back the tears that leaked out and made tracks down the side of his face. 

Morgan’s heart broke at the sight of this courageous, intelligent, gentle man, so injured, so afraid. He kissed the top of Reid’s hair and stroked his face, uncaring of who might be watching. “Baby, I know you’re hurting and I know you’re scared, but the respirator is just temporary. You have to let it help you for a little while longer and then I swear, they’ll take it out.” 

Morgan kept stroking Reid’s hair, hoping that he would find the repetitive motion relaxing. His visiting time was over having ended a few minutes ago, but he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Reid while the young man was still distressed. Morgan was therefore greatly relieved when Reid’s fear seemed to be abating as he grew calm. “That’s it. Just relax.” 

Morgan looked through the glass enclosure and he could see a nurse, a different one this time, just outside Reid’s room. The nurse stepped inside. “I’m sorry, visiting time is over.” She walked over to Reid. “Dr. Reid, my name is Diana Wise and I’m one of the nurses who will be taking care of you. You’re in the Intensive Care Unit. That means your friend has to leave now, but I’m very sure he’ll be back.” Morgan nodded reluctantly at the pointed look Nurse Wise gave him. 

Leaning over the bed, Morgan spoke softly into Reid’s ear while gently squeezing his uninjured hand. “You’re gonna have to hurry up and get into a regular room so Garcia and I don’t kill each other trying to get in here to see you.” The words of love he longed to speak remained unspoken while the Nurse Wise hovered so close by. 

A light squeeze to his own hand was all the indication Morgan had that Reid had heard him. He didn’t open his eyes again and his face assumed a peaceful expression as sleep once more claimed him. 

Slowly Morgan laid Reid’s hand down. Suddenly the room was too small. The beeping of the monitors and the hissing of the respirator too loud. “Rest now. I’ll be back.” 

He left the room, making his way slowly and painfully back towards the bank of elevators. He pushed the button and prayed for a car to arrive soon. He was exhausted; all of the energy that had refueled his body and recharged his mental and physical resources upon Reid’s return to consciousness had drained right out of him.

The elevator arrived and Morgan got in and leaned against the back wall for the ride down. His stomach lurched sickeningly at the brief feeling of sudden weightlessness as the car proceeded downward. 

Thankfully, it was a non-stop trip down. The elevator doors opened up with a ding and Morgan felt alarmingly light-headed as he half lurched, half staggered out of the car and towards the waiting room where he knew his teammates were. He searched in vain for any moisture in his dry mouth. His eyes, with their darkening vision, strained to make out the waiting area that was just a few yards away. 

He never noticed Garcia’s eyes widen, or Prentiss calling his name anxiously. He was oblivious to Gideon’s sudden presence at his side, as his hearing along with his vision had gone strangely dim. 

Some vague part of his mind realized that something was very wrong, but his need to find a comfortable chair in which to sleep before he disgraced himself falling out in the middle of the hallway was all-consuming. 

Regrettably, he was too late. 

Morgan’s world went from color to gray to solid black as his eyes rolled back in his head and his knees buckled. It was only the swift and strong arm of Jason Gideon that spared his head from abruptly connecting with the hard floor. The older man reached out, caught, then lowered him carefully to the ground.

“Help him! We need help here!” Garcia cried out, galvanizing the others into action. Prentiss, JJ and Hotchner gathered around Morgan’s prone form and a nurse came over and began checking Morgan’s vitals. 

Gideon looked up at the concerned faces of his colleagues. “He needs air. Could you give him some air, please?” he asked mildly though his face was tense with obvious concern. 

“He’s right,” Hotchner agreed as he gestured the others to stand back. Two orderlies brought over a gurney and placed Morgan, who remained out cold, on it. “I’ll go with him. The rest of you stay here,” Hotchner added. 

Morgan was quickly wheeled back to the emergency room. With Hotchner following behind. 

Only when the gurney disappeared from view did the others wearily re-take their seats. Garcia gazed out without really seeing anything, a stunned look on her face. “He looks so awful,” she murmured. 

Prentiss just looked pissed-off. “What the hell were those doctors thinking, releasing Morgan when he was obviously not well?” she demanded of no one in particular.

Gideon shrugged and regarded the dark-haired woman with wise eyes. He had enough experience dealing with highly-driven law enforcement types to know the subterfuge often employed to hide illness or injury. Some raised the game practically to an art form. “It’s possible he may not have been entirely candid with the medical personnel.” 

“What do you think is wrong with him?” JJ asked, her voice betraying how deeply concerned she was.

“Besides being utterly exhausted from working this case, having had the skin shredded off his back, and seeing his lover lying unconscious in ICU with a respirator breathing for him? I have no idea.” It was Garcia’s fear for her friends and colleagues that fuelled her quick-fire, uncontrolled response. Garcia’s words seemed to echo within the confines of the waiting room. 

Prentiss’ head snapped up, her dark eyes wide with surprise at hearing Garcia’s slip. She was rendered temporarily speechless and could only stare hard at the flustered Garcia while JJ looked from Garcia to Prentiss. The young woman was wearing an expression that clearly communicated her uncertainly of what she’d heard. Gideon, for his part, looked calmly at Garcia with deceptively mild interest. 

Instantly, Penelope Garcia’s face flushed red under the attention. She looked horrified upon realizing just what she’d said. “Uhm...you didn’t hear that. That didn’t come out right. I didn’t mean - ”

“Yes you did.” Gideon’s gentle brown eyes held an ever-so-slight twinkle. 

“Wow. You _did_ didn’t you?” Prentiss confirmed when she’d regained her ability to speak. 

“Oh God, they are so going to kill me,” Garcia moaned. 

“It’s all right. You didn’t violate a confidence deliberately even if a part of you badly wanted to.” Gideon said. 

“So...can a girl ask how you know that Morgan and Reid are lovers?” Prentiss asked.

Garcia bit her lip and threw caution to the wind. “Because Morgan told me.” She paused. “Honestly, I knew it before then. If you all were better behavioral analysts you would have figured it out too,” she muttered under her breath. 

Suddenly, Garcia sprang out of her chair. “Look, I really need to get out of this waiting room. I’m going to the ER and try and track down Hotchner to see how Derek is doing.”

Eager to get the hell away from there, Garcia didn’t bother to wait for permission, denial, or alternative proposals. The buxom woman quickly strode off down the hallway, the sound of her heels clicking loudly on the hard floor. 

 

*******

 

Aaron Hotchner stood discreetly off to the side as the gurney bearing Morgan was pulled along side an emergency room examination bed and his insensate form transferred from the gurney to the table. 

The very same physician who had attended Morgan earlier came into the room. Dr. Miller looked surprised when he saw who his patient was. “You again!” he exclaimed as he and a nurse sprang into action. Morgan’s vital signs were checked and an increased heart rate and respiration noted. 

Dr. Miller ordered blood be drawn and an IV line started.  
The physician spied Hotchner standing in the corner. “Tell me what happened?” 

“Agent Morgan had just returned from visiting our colleague in ICU. He looked unwell and he collapsed before he could reach a seat in the waiting room,” Hotchner recounted succinctly. 

“Agent Morgan, Agent Morgan,” Dr. Miller tapped the unconscious man’s face and repeatedly called his name to rouse him. Hotchner heard a low moan full of misery. 

Morgan was coming to.

Hotchner nearly started forward when suddenly Morgan curled on his side, hands clutcheing his stomach in obvious pain. 

“Agent Morgan, it’s Dr. Miller. You’re in the ER. Can you tell me how you’re feeling? ”

Morgan’s mouth moved, but for a second, no words came out. Finally he said, “hurts. Stomach hurts, head hurts. Thirsty.”’

“I shouldn’t wonder. You’re severely dehydrated. We just need to figure out why. The fluids you’re receiving should help you feel better soon.”

Dr. Miller addressed Hotchner again, “I’m going to ask you to wait outside if you don’t mind.”

“Of course.” First he stepped closer to Morgan, “I’ll be outside.” Morgan nodded his head but didn’t open his eyes.

Hotchner reluctantly left the room and slowly paced outside. He’d not been there long before Penelope Garcia walked up. “How’s Derek?” 

“He’s conscious. The doctor said he’s very dehydrated.” 

Garcia sighed. “Poor guy. We didn’t even get a chance to ask him how his visit with Reid went.”

Sensing something else was going on, Hotchner invited the young woman to sit down. When they were seated, Hotchner looked her in the eyes. “What’s going on?”

“W-what do you mean?” Garcia stumbled over her words.

“I mean why are you here?” Hotchner’s gaze burned into her.

Garcia swallowed. It wouldn’t pay to be evasive now. “I sort of let the others in on a secret.”

“About?”

“God, I feel like a heel for telling you this, but everyone else knows, and you’ve asked me, and you’re my boss - ”

“Garcia.” Hotchner said, steadily looking at her.

That was enough to halt Garcia’s stalling. She took a deep breath. “Morgan and Reid. They’re in love...with each other.” 

Hotchner’s poker face remained firmly in place though he stood up and ran his hand through his hair. 

Garcia looked worried. “Aren’t you going to say something like, ‘Garcia your services are no longer needed?’”

“No. But we’ll talk about this later.” Hotchner ended the discussion without indicating whether or not he was upset that one employee had revealed sensitive information about two other employees, or that two employees had hidden their sexual preferences and in Morgan’s case, had been deceitful about his orientation, or that two of his team members were involved with each other. 

Just then Dr. Miller approached. “You can come in now.”

“He’s going to be all right?” Garcia asked.

“Dr. Miller, this is Penelope Garcia she’s a good friend and colleague of Derek’s. Garcia, this is Dr. Miller,” Hotchner quickly made introductions. 

Dr. Miller smiled reassuringly. “Pleased to meet you and yes, he will be fine. Agent Morgan is suffering from your garden variety stomach viral infection. In and of itself it’s nothing serious, but unfortunately, he let himself get severely dehydrated. It’s clear from talking to him that he’s was exhausted long before today and with the recent physical and emotional trauma, well, his body was on overload. 

We’ll keep an eye on him in the ER for a few hours. We’re re-hydrating him and monitoring his pain medication.”

“Can we see him?” Garcia asked.

“Yes, but keep it short, he needs his rest.” Dr. Miller walked off leaving Hotchner and Garcia staring uncomfortably at each other. 

Finally, Garcia broke the stalemate. “I’d like to come in with you to see Derek.”

“Of course. Penelope,” he quickly added, “please don’t mention what you discussed with the others to Derek. He’s needs to concentrate on getting better, all right?”

Garcia‘s smile was a self-deprecating one. “Don’t worry, Hotch telling Derek that I outed him to the whole BAU would not be on my list of topics to cheer him up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks for the folks who left recent Kudos!
> 
> http://romanseartfanfic.com


	19. Chapter 19

_All our times have come_  
Here but now they're gone  
Seasons don't fear the reaper  
Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain (We can be like they are) 

_Come on baby (Don't fear the reaper)_  
Baby take my hand (Don't fear the reaper)  
We'll be able to fly (Don't fear the reaper)  
Baby, I'm your man 

_\- Don’t Fear the Reaper -  
Blue Oyster Cult_

The black, 1966 Ford Mustang traveled down the interstate, the driver’s eyes looking fixedly on the road ahead. The Mustang’s turning wheels ground down the road, furthering the task of merging together sporadic remains of rotting road kill with hot asphalt. If he’d ever noticed, he would have empathized with the unfortunate animal carcasses since that’s exactly how he too felt - ground up, his flesh and bones run over and left to rot in the open. 

He only thought he could taste the flavor of death fouling his taste buds, but he wasn’t entirely wrong on that count. Ethan Stewart’s body was dying. Chemical changes were happening inside him that the heroine highs could no longer mask. He didn’t even have to look in the mirror with his hollow, empty eyes to see the signs. Since he’d started getting sick, his weight had plunged from battling the latest infections waging war on his ravaged body’s immune system. 

As a result, his clothes hung off his frame giving him the appearance of a well-dressed scarecrow. He didn’t need to view the faded glory of his once thick, shiny hair and beard, now dull and breaking off, to know that his body’s cells had moved on to more pressing, important functions. Still, he didn’t dare shave off the thinning beard for it did the job of hiding the sores festering on his skin underneath. After all, it didn’t pay to scare the more well-heeled people out of their wits when approaching them for money.   
He’d needed to do that ever since he’d had the misfortune of being relieved of his wallet by a rest stop pickpocket. 

But for the lone credit card he’d kept separately in the car’s glove compartment, he’d be entirely without funds, and he badly needed to preserve what dwindling credit he had for when he arrived in Virginia. Not having any pride left to speak of, he’d taken to panhandling in strange cities and towns along the way. 

The one-time FBI Academy trainee, one-time superb New Orleans jazz musician hummed a tune only he could hear emanating from a silent, broken radio. Hands with fingers once supple enough to bring forth the most melodic sounds from any reluctant, care-worn piano but now too boney and frail, played an imaginary accompaniment on a phantom set of ivory keys upon the steering wheel. 

The hand motion went unnoticed by the man who needed a bath, but couldn’t smell it, who needed a meal, but couldn’t eat, and for one whose brain was singularly focused on a mission to drive himself every one of the hundreds of pain-wracked miles from New Orleans to Quantico, Virginia. 

The all-consuming need to find Spencer Reid was the motivation that kept him on the road, driving a car packed with what few possessions he’d haphazardly thrown in. The heroin and the pleasure it gave him was the pacifier that kept him from pulling under an overpass and blowing his brains out.

Oh the ironies of life. There was a time when he would have bet money that he would never have reason to show his face in Quantico again after having walked away from what could have been a promising FBI career. And then out of the blue, Spencer Reid had come back into his life.

Before the young genius had left Ethan’s home he’d given Ethan his FBI business card. Guilt over having had unprotected sex with Spencer with neither the young man’s consent or knowledge kept him from dialing the number. Anger over Spencer’s unwitting part in his relapse into illegal drug use deterred him from tossing the card into the trash. 

Confused, hopeful, angry, guilt-ridden, his conflicting emotions about Spencer waged a take-no-prisoners war on his psyche while at the same time, the heroin was staging an all-out seduction on his body with intense cravings for the drug. Alone, Ethan was caught in the middle. 

There was nothing left of Spencer but that damn card daring him to call while at the same time reminding him of all the reasons why he shouldn’t.   
Call Spencer or throw the card away - he’d been unable to do either one, guarding the card like a piece of treasure until the day he noticed, to his consternation, that the lettering was starting to fade. He’d put the card away then in a drawer for safekeeping, along with the fervent hope that eventually he’d get over his guilt, clean up his act, and find the courage to reconnect with Spencer. 

The fact that Spencer had never called him since he’d said good-bye to him that night at the Silhouette Club, nor the possibility that the reason that was so was because Spencer was involved with someone else, never registered with Ethan, even along the periphery of his thoughts. The way Ethan had seen it, Spencer had come to New Orleans, had sought comfort in _his_ arms and in _his_ bed. That could only mean that Spencer was available, that during that time of separation, the young genius had been thinking about him, wanting him the same way he’d wanted Spencer all those years ago. 

Ethan’s goal then had been to move towards reconnecting and establishing a genuine romantic relationship with Spencer, but then the cosmos with an entirely neutral malevolence had laughed and delivered him a knock-out punch in the form of an AIDS diagnosis. His hopes for romance with Spencer, along with any idea he had of living a long life had spiraled downward and dashed into million pieces upon the hard earth until there was nothing left - not illness, lack of funds, or any other thing short of death that would keep him from his mission to find and confess to Spencer of what he’d done to him that night and the possible consequences. Spencer deserved to know whether or not he’d contracted the HIV virus and for Ethan, the only acceptable way to tell him was in person.

Penance on the way to atonement. That’s what the torturous trip by car was. On a good day, Ethan pushed his ailing, weakened body for two to three- hour driving stretches at a time. He’d pull by the side of the road and rest whenever fits of coughing, or the heat from a sudden infection-induced fever sapped his strength just like it was doing now. On a bad day when he was so tired and pained that even his hair seemed to hurt, he’d find a rest stop and simply sleep until he’d garnered enough strength and felt well enough to move on. 

He was hurting now with an ache deep inside that made it hard to breathe. Still, his lungs brought air in and out with a wheeze that reminded him that he was still alive. His body felt increasingly weaker, forcing him to grip the wheel so tightly out of a fear that his hands would fail him. Sweat dripped down his face. He needed a fix. He needed medicine. He needed Spencer Reid. He needed...he just needed. 

Ethan glanced at the fuel gauge. His anxiety level spiked and he cursed at the dangerously low reading. The needle hovered tantalizingly a tad over the red empty line before settling directly over the mark. According to the highway sign he’d just passed, he was still some miles from the nearest town. He’d be lucky if he could get to a station before the car ran out of gas, just so he could pay for fuel he couldn’t afford. Ethan laughed and it was a bitter sound. He was tired, so very tired. Dying in increments was an exhausting process and to Ethan, the car’s low fuel state was symbolic of how he felt inside. It was getting dark now and soon it would be true night. Running out of gas was bad; running out of gas on a dark, unfamiliar highway was even worse. 

Ethan kept to the highway’s right hand lane, significantly slowing his speed to conserve the dwindling gas. One after the other, the cars behind him pulled around him, accelerating rapidly in the lane next to his. He ignored the glares from a few annoyed drivers as well as the stares from the simply curious. Ethan was far too occupied with the stress of uncertainty, praying his luck and fuel would hold as mile after mile, he progressed up I-95. 

It seemed an eternity later that Ethan began to see a series of road signs bearing gas station, hotel and restaurant logos. A little farther up a separate sign contained the letter H signaling the presence of a hospital in the city. 

Ethan’s strength was rapidly failing and it took all his powers of concentration to steer the car to the exit. He willed himself with a stubborn determination to keep it together, at least until he could acquire the means to refuel his car. He was less than 60 miles from Quantico, but he knew he’d have to find someplace to hole up, rest and recover some strength. He had no choice; he simply couldn’t go on any farther. 

Ethan didn’t breathe easy again until he drove into the outskirts of the city and finally, the myriad of twinkling lights from afar crystallized into actual street lights, signs and illuminated buildings. 

He was feeling increasingly feverish, weak and nauseated by the time he saw the Exxon station up ahead on the right. The car was sputtering now, an ominous sign of emanate lack of fuel. Ethan could feel his heart beating fast. He nearly wept with sheer relief as he pulled into a parking spot along the side and cut the car’s engine.

For a minute he zoned-out and his mind swirled with milky confusion. He suddenly couldn’t remember where he was or what he was doing. He closed his eyes and his head dropped wearily down to his chest. There was no other movement for a good two minutes until suddenly, his body spasmed making his head snap upward and his eyes open wide. Ethan swore. It was as though a powerful force outside of himself had given him a painful jolt to revive him physically and mentally. 

The fog in his mind lifted and Ethan remembered his task. _Money. I need money for gas._ Ethan fumbled with the car door trying to open it. It swung wide. Painfully, he stepped outside to survey the possibilities. Though the station was lit, the lights were not all that bright affording him some modicum of darker cover. This was good. The less people saw of him, the more likely they were not to turn away at his approach. He wondered just how many times he’d strike out before he found the one person with a streak of decency who would help him out. 

He wouldn’t have to wait long to find out. There was someone, it looked like a young man, at the farthest pump, putting gas into a red Volkswagon Beetle. 

Ethan ran a shaky hand through what was left of his lank, dark hair and tried to paste a friendly, non-desperate looking expression onto his face. Slowly he approached the man. 

 

********

Ricky Stennis whistled a low, jovial tune as he put his scrubs in his locker and prepared to punch the time clock and get the heck on out of the hospital. It’d been a pretty good day as far as his shift, plus two overtime hours went. He’d taken the hospital’s usual state of too much work and too few orderlies in sanguine stride. 

He loosed his long hair from the hair band that held it neatly back in a pony tail and thought about how good an ice cold Corona would taste in between sets at the Bulldog Bar and Grill where he played bass for his buddy’s band every Friday night.

If he hurried, he’d have just enough time to talk over a few ideas he had to change up one of their favorite, standard tunes. First things first though. His car needed gas and he needed some smokes. He drove his Volkswagon Beetle out of the parking lot and over to the Exxon station just a few blocks away.

Five-minutes later Ricky had purchased a pack of Camels and was pumping his gas when he saw, from that distance, what he thought was an old man shuffling towards him. Ricky quickly mentally calculated whether or not he could disengage the pump and drive off before the old man finally reached him. Much to his dismay, that wasn’t going to happen. He had pulled the pump from the car, hung it up and then turned to get back in his car when the old man, who was apparently walking faster, was upon him. He called out in an oddly-accented, weak, gravely voice. “Excuse me. Don’t mean to bother you, man, but my car ran out of gas. Do you think you could help me out with a little change so I can get some?” 

Ricky didn’t even turn around. He had one foot in the car and was about to lower himself into the seat when the voice, which had acquired a somewhat desperate tone to it spoke again. “Hey, you play bass?” Ricky groaned internally. Evidently the old man had spied his bass guitar case in the back seat of the Volkswagon. It wasn’t an expensive one, just an old Fender his father had passed on to him, but still it was a valuable instrument. Ricky turned around and for the first time, looked at the person now standing in front of him. He was momentarily shocked and doing a poor job of hiding his reaction at what he saw, for the man standing in front of him was not some toothless, elderly wino but an obviously ill and frail-looking man not much older than his own twenty-nine years. _Oh my God, what’s he got? Is it catching?_ Ricky stepped back slightly - right into the open car door. He eyed the man warily. Oddly enough, the man’s clothes were wrinkled and in need of a wash, but they were the well-made kind that spoke of another life and other circumstances. As though the man could read his thoughts, Ricky observed something pass along the ravaged man’s face. Shame. Defeat. 

The effort it took for the man to stand upright suddenly took its toll and he began to list to the side, leaning against the gasoline pump. 

“Please. If you could just give me a little cash...” The voice trailed off and a vacant look crept over the man’s face as he began to cough with a harsh, wet sound. 

_Oh shit no! I don’t have time for this._ Ricky reached for his wallet, determined to stuff as many bills into the man’s hand and get the hell out of there as fast as he could. 

He grabbed the bills, not even caring what denomination they were. “Here, take this, man.” The ill man stared at the bills while the sweat dripped from his brow. Ricky, who had seen plenty of dying people in his line of work, thought, _You ain’t gonna make it, buddy. He needs to be in the hospital._ Unconsciously, Ricky’s eyes glanced in the direction of his employment - the hospital where he had just spent ten hours of his time. 

Anybody else on a Friday night, in his position would have left the scene and not looked back. But Ricky heard the voice of his long-dead grandmother who had raised him with unconditional love and the Bible along with the belt. _“Ricky chil’e, you can’t just leave that sick, poor man like he’s yesterday’s trash.”_ Then she would have said something like, _“I raised you better than that! You’re a doctor!”_ Despite the serious inconvenience of the situation, he smiled slightly at that because he would have reminded his beloved grandmother for the thousandth time that he was an orderly not a doctor. 

“Ah hell!” Ricky said when the man collapsed on the ground though he remained conscious. He reached for his phone intending to dial 911, but then changed his mind. The hospital was right down the street; if he took him in his car it would be faster than waiting for an ambulance. He’d drop the man off and be on his way to his gig. “C’mon buddy. Look at me.”

Brown eyes made dull with suffering looked up at him. “My name’s Ricky and I work at Mercy General. We’re gonna get in my car and we’re gonna take a little ride to the hospital okay?”

Ricky helped the man stand and then half walked, half dragged him to the passenger side of the car where he helped him sit while he secured him with the seatbelt. He whipped out his cell phone and dialed his friend to tell him he’d be late for his gig.

His one-sided conversation seem to rouse his passenger who began to fumble at his seatbelt. “What are you doing, man?”

“No.”

“No what?”

The man wheezed, “No hospital...no insurance...”

“You think I care about that? No way. You need a doctor. In case you haven’t seen yourself lately, you are one sick dude.”

The man spoke again, this time he was outright agitated. “My car. Can’t leave my car...” The ill man gestured in the direction of the lone car parked in station’s parking spaces. Ricky saw a beautiful, classic Ford Mustang. He couldn’t make out what was in the car but there was enough for him to see that it was packed tight with belongings.

Ricky whistled low. “She’s a beautiful ride all right, but you can’t worry about her right now.” Ricky thought for a minute before coming up with a plan. "I’ll tell you what, I know the manager of this gas station. I’ll explain what’s going on so that he won’t have your car towed away, okay?”

The man stopped fumbling with the belt. Ricky had no idea whether or not it was because he agreed with the plan or he was so weak and had simply given up in exhaustion. “Hey, what’s your name? Can you tell me your name?”

“Ethan...Ethan Stewart,” the man mumbled. 

“Ethan. That’s good. That’s a good name,” Ricky said reassuringly. “Be right back, Ethan.” 

He was as good as word when he left and returned again shortly after having gotten the manager’s word that he would not have the Mustang towed. 

 

*******

Coming back into Mercy General felt like some weird version of groundhog’s day to Ricky, only this time he was hauling a very sick man in with him. Ricky deposited Ethan gently into a seat in the ER waiting room while he went to get a nurse from triage. Various colleagues he had not too long ago said good night to as he clocked out gazed at him curiously. But it was Daryl, Ricky’s friend who also worked at the hospital who spoke to him. 

“Is that your date for the evening?” Daryl snickered. 

“Shut up. Even he wouldn’t go out with you, even if you paid him,” Ricky quipped back good-naturedly as he kept on his mission to get a nurse. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Kathi, one of the triage nurses who was rather laid back, but didn’t take unnecessary bullshit when things had to get done. 

Ricky explained the problem and Kathi came out to speak with Ethan. 

Ethan was slumped in the chair, looking half-dead to Ricky’s eyes. Evidently he looked that way to Kathi too for she quickly felt for a pulse and finding one, breathed a sigh of relief. She took her stethoscope and listened to the sick man’s heart and lungs. “Looks like at the very minimum he’s got a bad case of pneumonia going on. Do me a favor, Ricky and stay here with him while I go round up some help and a gurney.” 

“Sure,” Ricky readily agreed. Then he knelt by Ethan’s side, prepared to tell him that he was leaving. His good deed was done, his conscious clear. He’d gotten the man to a hospital where he belonged, and on top of that, he’d seen that his car was, at least for the time being, secure. 

Ethan’s eyes were closed and Ricky put his hand on the man’s boney knee and gave it a gentle shake. “Hey.” Ethan’s lids cracked open revealing tired, bloodshot orbs. “I’ve gotta go now, buddy. Nurse Kathi’s gonna take good care of you now. Tomorrow’s my day off, but I’ll try and stop by to check on you.” 

Ricky received no response. He doubted if the man had understood a word he’d said, and that only sealed his resolve to return later to see that he was all right. 

Ricky rolled his eyes heavenward as he walked off when Kathi, gurney and company arrived. _Hey Grandma, if you got any pull with The Man upstairs, tell him I did good tonight, okay?_

 

********

Bright morning sunlight streamed through the window of room 304 at Mercy General. Its rays provided a comforting warmth to Morgan as he lay upon his side. Awareness came to him as the deep, healing sleep the agent had been in gradually fell away. Slowly, he rolled over. The groan that followed seemed far off and didn’t realize that the pitiful sound had come from him. He smelled perfume. A hand lifted his head and a straw was put between his teeth. A voice command him to take a sip. Morgan did and he savored the cool, fresh water that slid down his throat. He kept his eyes closed until he finished quenching his thirst. 

Finally, he cracked a bleary eye open - and immediately saw Penelope Garcia leaning over him with a wide grin on her face. Big dangling earrings adorned her ears and jangled pleasantly when she moved her head. “Good morning, sleepyhead. This is your friendly wake-up call.”

Morgan slowly smiled in return. “Hey. You’re a sight for sore eyes.” He blinked. “What time is it?” 

“It’s after ten and you‘ve been asleep for hours. How are you feeling?” 

“Better. Much better.” Morgan was greatly relieved to find this was true. He no longer felt like road kill. It helped that the room had stopped spinning, his guts were no longer rebelling against him, and his head felt much clearer. It was good indeed to wake up to see a friendly face like Garcia’s watching over him. 

Then realization struck. 

He was waking up to a familiar face, but what about Reid? He’d promised Spencer that he would be there for him. How long had he lain there incapacitated, when the young man had needed him so badly? Morgan attempted to rise and swore, frustrated by the IV line that snaked from his hand, becoming entangled. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Garcia demanded firmly.

“ICU.” 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Garcia held placed both hands, palms up on Morgan’s chest, gently pushing him back down on the bed. “You’re not going anywhere. Have you any idea how sick you’ve been? Besides...,” Garcia winked conspiratorially, “rumor has it that there are legions of nurses clamoring to take care of, and I quote, ‘a Nubian king’.”

Morgan’s appalled expression would have been humorous to Garcia, but for the choking spell that accompanied the look. Garcia looked on, horrified. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean...” 

Morgan waved his hand and when he composed himself, he began chuckling softly, “It’s okay, Baby Girl.” He turned serious then. “I need to know how Spencer is. Please, tell me he’s not alone.” 

“Of course not. Gideon’s with him,” Garcia quickly reassured him as if detecting with her usual keen powers of perception that underneath Morgan’s calm, anxiety lurked far too close to the surface. “The doctors say he’s doing well and they’re going to move him out of ICU this afternoon.” 

Morgan relaxed slightly. “He’s off the ventilator then?”

“I don’t know. They have to do that before they move him to a regular room and I do know that is supposed to happen this afternoon.”

“Did the doctor say when I can get out of here?”

“I dunno, kiddo,” Garcia hedged. “I’m sure the doctors will be making rounds soon and you can ask them yourself.”

Morgan frowned then fell into a thoughtful silence. Garcia sat down and began flipping through a magazine, content to let him rest. Finally, Morgan asked about the rest of the BAU.

“Hotch, Emily and J.J. went back to Quantico late last night - well, technically, very early this morning.” Garcia put down the magazine and took a deep breath. “Derek, I have something to tell you.” The young woman looked away quickly, but not before Morgan detected her guilty expression. 

A feeling of dread immediately seized his soul. Had Garcia lied to him? Was Reid actually not doing well at all? “What is it?” he asked carefully.

“Derek...I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do it, but under the circumstances - I would never deliberately hurt you, you know that don’t you?” Garcia’s words tumbled out in a torrent, leaving Morgan completely clueless. 

“Slow down. Take a deep breath and tell me what’s wrong.”

“The cat’s out of the bag,” Garcia said simply.

Morgan felt totally off his game.

Garcia sighed. “The BAU knows that you and Reid are in love with each other.”

Morgan simply stared at her as if the analyst had grown two heads. Words failed him. They knew? For the second time that year his very foundation was rocked by having a deeply personal secret exposed to his BAU colleagues. Gideon and Hotch, in addition to finding out that as a youth he’d been systematically molested by his football coach, now knew that he was in love with another man. He’d deceived them well with the part he’d played as a voracious lover of women. Now, was he in their eyes, just another black man on the down-low? What about this revelation’s impact on Reid? The younger man was so intensely shy and he’d tried so hard to find a place where he could be fully accepted. He still struggled with moments of social awkwardness despite his validation as a friend and professional. Had everything they’d both gained all changed now? 

His mouth was working to get out the question most on his mind. “How?”

“Me. And my big mouth.” Garcia looked thoroughly contrite, but she pressed on. “Seeing someone I care about pass out on a hospital floor scared me out of my usual unflappable mind. I promise you, they took it in stride after they got over the shock. I doubt if they’ll mention it, unless you do.” She paused. “Well - I suppose Hotch might,” Garcia amended. 

Morgan was silent, feeling pensive.

Garcia got up from the chair and walked over to Morgan. “Please say you forgive me?” 

Morgan looked into Garcia’s expressive eyes that held nothing but kindness in their intelligent depths. He sighed. Of course he would forgive her. At the end of the day he knew there was very little he could refuse the vivacious, good-hearted woman he called friend. He smiled a small, genuine smile. “Yeah, I forgive you. C’mere.” He drew the blonde closer and gave her a hug with the arm unencumbered with the IV. 

To Morgan’s relief, he felt himself growing more philosophical about the matter. His mother had always said that keeping secrets required a lot of energy and secrets had a way of coming around to bite when least expected.   
Morgan was profoundly grateful. Garcia’s slip had done them a huge favor for now he and Reid were liberated from the secret that bound their lives as surely as the strongest shackles. 

Morgan closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep with a smile on his face. _No more secrets._

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://romanseartfanfic.com


	20. Chapter

It was so very pleasant in the place where Spencer Reid was. Quiet. Dark. Blessedly pain free. But it was not a place where he could stay forever. Life beckoned to him. The hours spent themselves and the dark place grew lighter as tendrils of sound and wisps of voices intruded upon his solitude, calling to him with an increasingly insistent siren’s song. 

The song was irresistible and he went to it, drawn by something other than pure intellectual curiosity. 

And so it was that the next time Spencer Reid regained consciousness he was aware that the obtrusive tube that had been down his throat was gone. It and the machine that had forced his lungs to expand and contract involuntarily had been removed, leaving only a dry soreness in his throat as a reminder that it had been there. 

His environment had changed too from the one where he had first awakened. No longer was he bothered by the frightening constant beeping, whirling and humming of various medical machines for he was no longer in the intensive care unit, but had been moved to a private room. It was much quieter here. The tranquility told him that he need not be afraid. 

_There’s a better reason why you don’t have to be afraid,_ an inner voice gently reminded him. Memory came flooding back. Confusion. Pain. Fear and an inability to command his body’s own basic functions. Yes, those things had been there upon waking and the one thing that had snatched him away from the terror had been the timber of a soulful voice that had spoken soothing words of comfort, and beautiful deep-brown eyes that had looked at him with such love and encouragement. That voice and those eyes belonged to one Derek Morgan.

Full consciousness came to him then and he opened his eyes and blinked, wincing at the overly bright lights that sent a dull stabbing pain through his skull. He immediately closed his eyes again and moaned. As if on its own volition his uninjured hand slowly raised up, intent on rubbing the place in his head that was pounding like a bass drum. 

Something warm and strong captured his hand and brought the wandering appendage gently back down to his side. Reid tried again to open his eyes and this time he succeeded in keeping them that way. He blinked and then the blurry visage above him clarified until he was looking up into the smiling face of none other than Derek Morgan.

“Derek.” His voice was a hoarse, foreign-sounding croak. He licked his lips, then frowned at the taste. Someone had thoughtfully applied a medicinal-tasting balm to them during his time of intubation. 

He opened his mouth to try again, and felt a straw put to his lips instead. 

“Drink this, you’ll feel better,” Derek advised. 

Derek was right. Reid tasted the cool water and let it slide down his throat. The wonderful liquid quenched his thirst and put out the fire that was his sore throat. He had his fill while Derek patiently held the cup. Only when he’d taken one swallow that went down the wrong way which set off a mild coughing fit, did Derek pull the cup away. 

“Better?” Derek asked. Not yet ready to trust his voice, Reid simply nodded. He resettled himself into the cocoon of blankets on his bed and studied the other man. Derek was still smiling but this time Reid noticed the telltale signs that Derek had been through his own trials. Derek’s eyes that looked at him with such a mixture of relief, love and good humor, also looked exhausted. There were fading dark circles that even his dark-hued skin could not hide and his cheeks had a hollow hint to them. 

Shyly, Reid reached out his good hand and Derek readily clasped it gently. “Are you all right, Derek?” 

“I’m good.” Derek smiled again, but then strangely, his smile faltered and he looked away. “I‘m sorry I wasn’t with you anymore in ICU after you woke up the first time.” Derek looked up and this time, Reid read embarrassment in Derek’s face. “I was pretty sick,” came the reluctant-sounding admission. “After I visited you I took a nosedive in the waiting room and had to be admitted.” 

Reid felt alarm rising up. Derek had been ill. Sick enough to require hospitalization and all the while, he’d been out of it in ICU having his every need attended. The fog lifted from his mind and suddenly snatches of memory started coming to him with lightning speed. Gideon had been there with him. He was sure of it. The older man’s hand had been upon him, a quiet presence at his side providing a steady anchor to keep him tethered to the world. He thought he remembered the whimsical scent of Garcia’s perfume and a pair of soft lips bestowing a gentle kiss upon his cheek. 

Then his mind took him further back in time. He remembered a careening motor home - a deathtrap being driven by a sadistic maniac. His mind supplied the pitiful image of a naked girl, her body bruised and torn, pleading with him for help through eyes wide with terror. He saw himself in a cramped, dark place desperately talking to Morgan on the phone. There was the stench of burning rubber and then pain so overwhelming as his hand smacked against the bulkhead with brutal velocity hard enough to break it. Phantom pain throbbed from his hand bringing on a bout of nausea. 

He closed his eyes, willing himself not to throw up. He gasped with the suddenness of the dark terror that surged up in his soul like a roller coaster hurtling up a track only to plunge downwards at break-neck speed. The UnSub had grabbed him painfully by the hair, almost yanking it out by the roots. He remembered not even having time to scream as the dash rose up to meet his face and then...blackness. 

The blackness had gradually given way to light. The kind of light that consisted of a kaleidoscope of painful sensations and feelings. There had been hope in seeing Derek appear miraculously by his side. But the hope had turned to despair, and despair to horror as he realized he was going to die and take Derek with him if he could not get the older man to leave him. 

There was searing pain that gripped his chest like a vice until he could no longer draw breath and he couldn’t hold on to consciousness any more. 

After that there had been nothing. 

His mind could not supply him with any memories of what had occurred next and he knew that the reason for that was because he‘d been so very close to death. 

But he had not died. 

Somehow, someway there had been a miracle because he was here and Derek Morgan, his beautiful, strong Derek Morgan was sitting near, looking at him with both equal parts love and concern. 

There was no doubt in his mind that he owed his life to Derek. He knew without anyone telling him that the older man had completely disregarded all thoughts of saving his own life by refusing to leave him to die alone in that teetering RV. 

He could only look at Derek, unable to speak, too overwhelmed by his emotions that were all jumbled up inside - wonder, relief, intense love - the feelings were almost frightening in their strength. Dazed, he hoped that Derek could see his face reflecting the love he felt for him.

Derek squeezed his hand gently. “I know,” was all he said. 

They sat their quietly, looking at their interlocked hands. One, dark brown, strong and beautifully formed. The other, slim, creamy skin over an elegant creation. Neither man seemed eager to disturb the perfect tranquility of the moment by speaking.

At length Reid sighed and reluctantly asked the one question that had crept into his mind, “Is my mother here?”

Derek smiled at Reid sadly. “Hotch called the facility and the doctor there broke the news to your mom. I’m sorry, Spencer, your mom didn’t take it too well. They had to sedate her and increase her medication.” Derek shook his head and looked down as if not wanting to see the disappointment he knew must be displayed on Spencer’s face. “She just wasn’t in any shape to fly out here. But since then she’s gotten better. She’s even called. Look...” Derek rose from his chair and brought over a lovely arrangement of exotic flowers and a card. “These are from your mom.” 

“They’re beautiful,” Reid whispered. He reached for the card and his long fingers trembled ever so slightly as he removed it from its envelope, opened it, and began to read silently. 

_Dearest Spencer,  
I’m so sorry that I have not been there at your side as a mother should. Please remember, my physical absence does not at all negate the fact that I am and have been with you in spirit. _

_By the time you read this note, I have no doubt that you will have beaten even your doctor’s best prediction and awakened and set yourself well on the path to recovery. You always were ahead of the class._

_Love,  
Your Mother _

Spencer carefully folded the note and replaced it with infinite care back into the envelope. 

Morgan was watching him carefully. “You okay?”

Reid smiled a small, but genuine expression of relief and peace. “I’m fine Derek, just fine. 

“In that case, you don’t mind if I do this do you?” Morgan rose from his chair and sat down on the edge of Reid’s bed. Then slowly, looking at the face that was no less exquisite despite the ugly, vivid bruising that peeked out beneath the bandaging covering the laceration across his forehead, he leaned forward, and with the gentlest of touches, held Reid’s chin as he brought their lips together. 

Reid closed his eyes and his pulse quickened; he reveled in the sensation of Morgan’s lips touching his. It was an innocent kiss as the other man’s tongue quested forth, gently seeking permission to enter Reid’s mouth. Reid opened his mouth and let him in, their tongues dueled and explored the delights that lay within. Reid moaned and his body shuddered with pleasure. 

This is what he needed. This is what he’d dreamed about and thought he’d never have the chance to experience again as he had lay dying inside the wrecked motor home. 

 

*******

He was supposed to have died. He knew it, had known that for a long time. From the expressions and whispered conversations thoughtlessly made in his presence, even the doctors and nurses attending him knew it. 

The ex-musician from New Orleans had lost a great deal of himself to the ravages of the disease, but the one skill he’d held on to was his astute ability to read people. Oh, they never said anything to his face, but it was there nonetheless. The whispered conversations that had swirled around him during the fog of his most recent illness had been accompanied by looks that held judgment. He was an AIDS patient with no insurance, and in their eyes, Ethan figured, he was nothing more than an expensive leech on the small hospital’s precious resources. 

Ethan had become cynical in his decline. 

He was alone, surrounded by hostile faces - all save one. Ricky Stennis, the hospital worker who’d brought him to the hospital and had looked after his car, came to see him as his shift breaks allowed. Ethan had no way of knowing, but Ricky had come by to see him every day since he’d been admitted. The first two days, he’d been too out of it to know that his rescuer was looking in on him, but since then another day had passed and Ethan felt he was a step farther away from the edge of the cliff. 

Awareness and some measure of strength gradually returned and the following day, he’d found himself out of bed, taking his first shaky steps. He’d felt as though he was going to fall down any minute, but Ricky had stopped by to encourage and cajole him in his own laid-back, jovial manner.  
Ricky laughed, “Just call you Lazarus, man. Didn’t think I’d ever see you walkin’ and talkin’ again.”

Ethan shrugged. “I have things to do, people to see,” he said vaguely. And that was true. He was feeling better and he couldn’t afford to stay here much longer. Hell, he couldn’t afford to stay here period. _No sir, think I’ll be leaving this place soon and I’m afraid I’ll have to skip that little stop by the financial affairs office._

Ricky looked at him appraisingly and a knowing expression came across his face. “Yeah, I guess you do.” He watched Ethan haul himself back into bed and crawl underneath the covers. Ricky glanced at his watch. “I gotta go,” he announced to an audience of none. Ethan was already asleep. Ricky shook his head and added a regretful-sounding, “Later, Dude,” and departed for his shift. 

 

*******

**Two Days Later**

Even though Jason Gideon knew Spencer Reid was being released from the hospital tomorrow, and that the youngest BAU member had not been alone with Derek having taken some well-earned sick leave of his own to stay close, he’d wanted to make the drive down south one last time to see the young man and as Reid’s supervisor, speak with Reid’s primary doctor. 

Jason leaned casually on the countertop at the nurses’ station, waiting patiently to engage the attention of the pretty, middle-aged nurse who was speaking on the phone. Gideon concluded by her name tag that she’d been the one he’d talked to often when he’d called to get updates on Reid. _She’s really a lovely person_. Jason mentally stopped when he caught himself starting to profile the woman. 

“May I help you?” the nurse, whose name was Valerie Bailey, asked after she hung up the phone. 

“Yes, Ma’am, I think you can.” Jason smiled at Valerie. “I’m Jason Gideon of the FBI. You and I spoke on the phone a few times about Special Agent Dr. Spencer Reid’s condition.”

A pleasant smile lit up the kind face. “Yes, of course! It’s nice to put a face with the voice. Hmm, now didn‘t I tell you that Mr. Reid is being released tomorrow?”

“Yes, you did, thank you for the information,” Gideon said politely in his soothing, baritone voice. "Now, if I could just have a moment of your time...”

 

*********

With the exception of Ricky, Ethan had had no social visitors. He had pretty much spent his days asleep and had scarcely awakened for even the periodic nurses’ checks and medicine administration. On this day, Ethan awoke right before supper time. For the first time in a while he felt as though he just may have gotten a temporary reprieve from the Grim Reaper. He needed more than ever to get on with the business of finding Spencer Reid. 

For once, he was feeling well enough to actually be curious about what lay outside the four walls of his hospital room. He decided that it was time to attempt a short walk outside of his room. 

Slowly, Ethan got out of bed cautiously testing his legs. A minute passed and he found himself still upright and without any accompanying dizziness. The recovering man proceeded to place his feet in the cheap, paper hospital slippers, hold the back of his gown closed with one hand and with the other, push his IV pole in front of him. He made it out the door and slowly began making his way down the hall in the direction of the nurses’ hub. 

Ethan shuffled along, putting one foot in front of the other, keeping close to the wall. As he approached the nurses’ station from the side, Ethan suddenly stopped. There was a tall man standing at the station, speaking to one of the nurses. An odd, nagging sensation settled in his brain as soon as he saw the man. Did he know this person? Ethan looked again and nothing came to mind. But the sensation grew in intensity and the long ago buried side of him that contained the ‘cops sixth sense” was screaming at him that this person was someone important, someone he had seen before. 

 

Ethan strained to hear and caught the words of the kindly-looking nurse. _“Hmm, now didn’t I tell you that Mr. Reid is being released tomorrow?”_  
The air escaped from Ethan’s lungs and for a moment, his lungs refused to suck any more oxygen in as the world suddenly tilted sickeningly on its axis. Had Ethan not already had his arm braced on the wall he would have fallen. _No, no it can’t be!_ A memory of another place and time flooded through his mind and he saw himself so clearly: the elegant Silhouette Club with its dark cherry wood and leather chairs. A baby grand piano and the sound of clinking glasses and sophisticated-sounding laughter. Spencer Reid sitting elegantly in one of those chairs, one slender leg crossed over the other. A large, older man who had come in sometime during his set and taken a seat across from Spencer. 

_Jason Gideon! Spencer said the man’s name was Jason Gideon and he was his supervisor at the BAU._ Oh God! Ethan, fearing that he had spoken aloud clamped one hand over his mouth and backed away until he rounded the nearest corner. That nurse had all but said that Spencer was a patient here. Was he ill? Was he already showing symptoms of AIDS? _OhGodOhGodOhGod, what have I done?_

Fear and dread gripped Ethan and that confused him. Wasn’t that why he’d left everything behind and made the hellish drive from New Orleans to Virginia with no strength and little money? Spencer Reid was here, had to be on this very same floor. What he hadn’t been able to do on his own had been accomplished for him by the capriciousness of fate. He could see Spencer this very day, confess what he’d done to him and beg for his forgiveness. The fear and dread lessened a bit and the delusional voice in his head whispered, _Maybe he’ll actually forgive you. Maybe you can be there for each other, live for each other on the time you have left._

Ethan smiled.

Jason Gideon would lead him right to Spencer Reid’s room. After the man left, he’d make a visit of his own. His mind made up about his course of action, Ethan turned and on legs that were now trembling, slowly made his way back down the hallway to his room. He’d exhausted his limited store of strength and though his room was only yards away now, it seemed more like miles. He felt his vision graying around the edges and his body tilted and threatened to make a slow slide to the floor. Ethan groaned aloud in frustration. He was tired of being sick, tired of his body betraying him. 

Just when he felt his legs about to give out, he felt a strong and steady presence at his side. A large hand firmly and yet gently took his arm, holding him upright. 

“Please, let me help you.”

Ethan looked up and almost passed straight out from panic. The man who was holding him up and speaking to him so kindly was Jason Gideon. Gideon‘s brown eyes looked at him with nothing but concern. There was absolutely no recognition in the other man’s expression. And why should there be? Ethan was so greatly changed from the ravages of one illness after another that he hardly recognized himself. No matter how intelligent and perceptive the senior FBI profiler was, it would be highly unlikely that Gideon would recognize a man he’d only seen once and sitting behind a piano to boot. Relief flooded through Ethan and he lowered his head, only half pretending to regain his bearings. 

“Thanks. I’m better now.” With an enormous show of will, Ethan straightened himself. “I can make it now. My room is just right there.” Ethan gestured vaguely, too paranoid to even point out his room lest the profiler become curious and want to know his identity.

“Are you sure?”

Ethan took a deep breath. “Yes, I’m sure.” 

Gideon gave him an assessing look and Ethan fought hard to keep from squirming under it. Apparently satisfied at what he saw, Gideon replied, “Ok. Get better soon.” 

Ethan merely nodded and the big man walked away. One door, two, three and two more. Gideon stopped and gently pushed open the door and went in.  
For the second time in so many minutes, Ethan’s ability to breathe seemingly deserted him. Bingo! He’d found Spencer Reid!

By the time Ethan made it back to his room and laid his trembling body back on top of the bed, he was panting heavily. He wiped the sweat from his brow and began to puzzle out the situation. The nurse had said that Spencer was going home tomorrow. Gideon didn’t appear stressed. But still, the man had driven down from Quantico and that was at least an hour away. If Spencer were ill he’d be in a hospital closer to Quantico. That left the possibility that the young man had been in an accident. Had he been shot on duty? Hurt in a car accident? Ethan was no less anxious at the prospect, but if there was a God, and Ethan highly doubted there was, then He could make the reason Spencer was here something from which he could recover. 

Ethan lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling, lacking the strength to move anymore. His eyelids grew heavy and he blinked once then twice. _I’ll just close my eyes for a short nap. Then I’ll get up and see Spencer._

For Ethan, the move from waking to sleeping happened in the short moment between the opening and closing of his eyes. The sleep he fell into was one wherein he dreamed of Spencer and a healthy version of himself, together. They were naked in each other’s arms, hungry for each other, kissing deeply, and hands roaming freely. 

The body that joined with his this time did so willingly and knowingly. Spencer’s long legs were draped over his shoulders and the younger man writhed and bucked as he took Ethan’s hardness deep inside. In Ethan’s dream they moved that way, faster, deeper, harder until at last they rode the waves of ecstasy together, their mouths and tongues swallowing each other’s cries of passion. 

Ethan dreamed on and in the depths of his sleep, he remained oblivious to each passing hour. The hospital corridors had grown tomb-like quiet and the world outside was gradually blanketed in the colors of night. Jason Gideon had long since left the hospital, but Ethan was unaware of that just as he was equally unaware of the existence of the striking black man who had been a steady presence at Spencer Reid’s side. 

The deeply sleeping Ethan Stewart did not know that like himself, Spencer Reid was alone in his room, peacefully sleeping. Morgan had kissed his lover good night hours ago and returned to his room at the local motel. Ethan was ignorant to it all. In fact, Ethan’s next waking moment occurred at exactly the next day at 9:25 am when the recovering man stretched comfortably and opened his eyes to a room made light from the warm sunshine streaming through the open blinds. 

The bliss Ethan felt was fleeting. 

He glanced at the wall clock and dismay swamped him at the realization that he’d slept the night away, thus squandering his opportunity to carry out his plan to speak to Spencer. The dismay he felt though paled in comparison to the sight that greeted him when Ethan finally got himself ready, walked down to Spencer’s room, and gingerly opened the door. 

The room was empty. The bed neatly made, the room smelled clean and unused. It was clear that this room was unoccupied. To Ethan’s consternation, it was as though Spencer Reid had never been there at all.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone is enjoying the ride. 
> 
> http://romanseartfanfic.com


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in update. I'm taking a minute to post this between Tribal Forces con panels.   
> I can't believe there are people actually reading this. I hope the update is enjoyed.

With a relieved sigh, Morgan leisurely steered the borrowed car into the driveway and glanced over at the sleeping figure seated next to him in the front passenger seat. Reid’s head was tilted back against the head rest and his lush lips were slightly parted as he slept. Morgan cut the engine and simply sat for a minute, feeling reluctant to rouse his companion from his obviously needed sleep.

Excited to be going home after his stay in the hospital, the younger man had been wide-awake and eager to make conversation at the beginning of the drive back up north. The two men had commenced a lively conversation, but Morgan hadn’t driven far down the road when Reid’s contribution to the conversation began to flag until at last, his responses had died out altogether.

Morgan had glanced over at Reid and smiled fondly as he saw that the younger man had fallen into a deep sleep. Carefully, he’d fished for his jacket with one hand and placed it over his still-healing lover while steering with the other.

He didn’t wonder at all that Reid was still tired. The younger man could have been discharged at a decent hour in the morning, but he’d insisted that he wanted to go home as early as possible. As far as Morgan was concerned 6:00am had been way too early but still - he’d gathered up his belongings, checked out of the motel where he’d been staying, and swung by the hospital to collect Reid as promised.

Now Reid was finally home but Morgan took a moment to first study his lover before awakening him. The younger man, with his long, tousled, fine russet locks framing his face, looked so vulnerable in sleep. His splinted, bandaged, broken hand that Reid held cradled against his chest, and his bruised, pale forehead sporting a large band-aid over the stitched wound beneath, made him appear especially fragile. If Morgan had less respect for Reid’s own brand of enduring strength and independence, he would have made a solo command decision and driven him straight to his own home in order to care for him until Reid was fully back on his feet.

As it was, Morgan instinctively knew that Reid would not appreciate having a decision like that made for him. While still at the hospital, Morgan had asked Reid to come stay with him, but Reid had stumbled through an awkward, but firm, decline of the offer. That was fine. He would have to content himself with seeing to it that Reid was settled in and lacked for nothing while he rested and recovered.

Finally, Morgan reached over and gently shook Reid by one slender shoulder. “Spencer, wake up.” The younger man moved his head and mumbled something unintelligible but did not awaken. “You’re here. You’re home.” Morgan shook him again.

Sleep-laden eyelids lifted, blinked once and then again until the hazel orbs were fully revealed. Full consciousness had come to Reid and he sat up, rubbing his eyes and trying to stifle a yawn. Suddenly a sheepish grin appeared on his face and Derek guessed that the younger man had realized that quite some time ago he’d dozed off right in the middle of something he’d had been saying. “Hey, I’m sorry about...” Reid made a vague gesture, “that,” he finished lamely.

Morgan looked with affection at Reid. “Don’t worry about it, kid. Let’s get you inside.” Reid fumbled with unbuckling his seatbelt with his uninjured,  
non-dominate hand then opened the car door and exited stiffly. He let out a small groan of discomfort as he shuffled like an old man up the few low steps to the entrance of his brownstone with Morgan following close behind.

For a moment Reid reached for keys he forgot he did not have. Then he realized he’d left them back at the office the day he and Morgan had taken off down I-95 in the borrowed government vehicle. Morgan saw the subtle, dismayed expression on the tired face and he quickly moved to relieve his lover of it. He reached into his own pocket and pulled out Reid’s house key, dangling it in the air. “You can thank Gideon for this.”

“Thanks. I will.” The hazel eyes sparked with relief and gratitude at his mentor’s thoughtfulness. Reid took the key and using his uninjured hand, inserted the key in the lock, turned it and pushed open the door. Before they could step inside, Morgan caught Reid’s attention.

Morgan allowed a wicked grin to spread across his face. “And you can thank Garcia for the clean underwear.” Reid blushed a sudden, fierce scarlet.

“Garcia went through my underwear drawer?” he squeaked.

Morgan fought not to choke on his laughter at the expression of embarrassed horror on the slender man’s face. “I’m just kidding. Those are courtesy of Gideon too,” he assured with an amused smile. But suddenly the tables were unexpectedly turned when Morgan felt a rush of totally irrational jealousy arise up, seemingly out of nowhere. It taunted him with ungracious thoughts of how he and he alone should have been the one to handle the garments that Spencer wore so intimately on his body. Morgan pushed aside the thoughts and quickly said, “Go on.”

The two men entered through the door. Reid slowly walked around, letting an elegant hand trail upon a few select objects as if reassuring himself that he was indeed home before finally settling down on the comfortable old sofa. Morgan didn’t need to ask if Spencer was glad to be home. The utterly relaxed posture and blissful expression on the younger man’s face communicated everything. Morgan understood completely how Spencer must be feeling. He recalled all too well the terror of the wrecked motor home and the feeling at the time, that despite his best, desperate efforts to save both their lives, he and Spencer were going to plunge off an overpass, 75-feet to their fiery deaths.

The ugly memory reared its head and he knew he’d not successfully kept any pained expression off of his face when Reid, who was studying him from his vantage point on the big sofa sharply asked, “What’s wrong, Derek?”

“It’s nothing.” Morgan shook his head, annoyed at himself. His purpose here was to see that Reid was comfortably settled in and resting before returning to his own home, not to leech energy needed for healing away from the younger man due to concern for his own mental state. He was suddenly feeling very tired himself yet he still looked to his companion’s welfare. “Can I get you anything?” Morgan asked.

Reid physically relaxed and his eyes blinked. “Just a blanket, please,” came the sleepy-sounding reply.

Morgan smiled slightly. “You got it.” He went into Reid’s bedroom and removed the comforter from the old-fashioned four-poster bed. When he came out carrying it, he saw that Reid had already fallen back asleep. “You’ve got the right idea,” he muttered. He was going to do exactly the same thing when he finally got to his own apartment.

Carefully, Morgan placed his hands on Reid’s shoulders and lay the younger man down, removed his shoes, and covered him with the blanket.  
He glanced around and seeing nothing amiss, Morgan left his lover sleeping on the couch, intent on coming back by early evening. His own bed was calling for him and he gladly went to it, knowing that tomorrow he would be returning to work for the first time since he‘d torn open his back on the overpass.

 

********

“How’s the pain?” Morgan asked, gesturing towards Reid’s broken hand.

It was after 5:00pm and just as he’d planned, Morgan returned to Reid’s home to check in on him. He himself had slept for a few hours before finally getting up to wash clothes and do a little grocery shopping. He felt well-rested and optimistic that the younger man would also be awake by then.

He’d not been wrong. When he’d arrived at Reid’s home, he found the younger man awake and still wearing the street clothes he’d worn on his trip home from the hospital.

“I’m okay.”

Morgan looked pointedly at the untouched bottle of pain medication on the coffee table. Reid shrugged in response to Morgan’s dubious expression. Morgan wanted to believe his lover, but the set of Reid’s mouth betrayed his words. Reid was, at the minimum, experiencing some discomfort. “I know the nurse gave me a dose of pain medication in my IV before I woke up this morning.” His bright eyes turned dark. “If I had been awake I would have refused it.”

Morgan frowned. He was aware of Reid’s reasoning for wanting to avoid narcotics, but he also knew that his badly broken hand, the bones of which were being held together by the grace of a series of delicately placed screws and wires, would cause him a considerable amount of pain. The hand surgeon had cautioned Reid against foregoing the prescribed, powerful pain medication, stating that being in a constant state of pain could ultimately slow down and even halt his recovery.

But Reid was stubborn. Morgan figured the memories of near drug addiction, combined with the realization of how close he’d come to throwing away his career by deliberately missing the plane to Galveston, lurked dormant underneath the young genius’s successful reclamation of his life, lying ready to undermine his confidence and self-esteem if opportunity allowed.

Well Reid wasn’t going to give them the opportunity, and Morgan was proud of the younger man for that, but still...his own pain from his bruised and abraded back had only been bearable with the aid of regularly spaced dosages of the doctor-prescribed pain medication; without it he doubted if he would have been able to sleep at all.

“If you change your mind - ”

“I won’t,” Reid said firmly.

“At least let me get you something to eat,” Morgan said by way of a compromise.

Reid arched an eyebrow in surprised pleasure. “You’re going to cook?”

Morgan shook his head and grinned. “Nah, are you kidding? I’m going to call for takeout, my treat. Chinese okay with you?”

Reid smiled back though Morgan caught the slight wince that followed. “I’d like that. Thank you.” He rose to his feet and swayed briefly, clearly stricken by a bout of dizziness which he shrugged off. “Imperial Dynasty is my favorite Chinese delivery place. I always order from them,” he added with noticeably less enthusiasm.

Morgan was not surprised to see how unsteady Reid still was on his feet. The doctor had said that though his concussion was healing, he would still suffer from the lingering effects of the injury. Instantly, Morgan was at the younger man’s side. “Whoa there. Hang on. Where do you want to go?”

“Bedroom. I want to change into something more comfortable while you order,” Reid answered, suddenly closing his eyes. When he opened them, he began walking slowly towards his destination, with Morgan walking behind him, with one strong hand gripping his elbow gently, imparting strength.

Morgan left Reid there in his bedroom and he went out to the kitchen to try and find the Imperial Dynasty menu. A few minutes of searching in vain brought Morgan up short in amused realization - he wasn’t going to find an Imperial Dynasty menu because Reid would have no need of one. With his eidetic memory Reid could recall, right down to the ingredients of each dish, what was on the menu.

Morgan dialed information, got the number and proceeded to call the restaurant. By the time he’d finished placing the food order, Reid, wearing cotton pajama bottoms and an old, worn t-shirt, was stubbornly negotiating his way out of his bedroom and back to the couch. Morgan began contemplating the folly of ordering a Chinese feast for man getting over a concussion as he observed Reid wince, close his eyes and lean his head against the back of the couch.

Oh well, at least he’ll have food for later if he doesn’t feel like eating right now.

Morgan busied himself with setting out some plates, cups and utensils upon the table, and when he was finished he turned himself to the task of rummaging around in Reid’s refrigerator for something for them to drink.

There was a carton of milk that had expired, a container of orange juice and a lone bottle of raspberry-white tea. Morgan opted for the bottle of tea and set it out on the table.

When all was made ready, Morgan came and sat down next to Reid. He studied his lover closely, then spoke softly. “I’m supposed to go back to work tomorrow. I could always take an extra day in case you need me.”

“I don’t,” Spencer replied without opening his eyes. Reid’s eyes flashed wide open as if suddenly realizing that Morgan could take it the wrong way. “I mean, I’ll always need you, Derek, just - not as a nursemaid.” The young man’s glance slid downwards and Morgan detected something deeper than Reid’s implied assertion that he felt sufficiently well enough to look after himself alone.

Morgan shrugged casually. A theory was beginning to form in his mind. Did Reid look uncomfortable because the idea of someone actually taking care of him was something foreign? It would make sense knowing that for a great deal of Spencer Reid’s life, his mother had become progressively ravaged by mental illness while struggling to raise her son alone. “No nursemaid,” he replied. “I just want to be the person who helps you out when you’re dealing with a busted hand, headaches, eye-sight and balance that are still below par because you got that skull protecting that big brain of yours nearly cracked open.”

Reid smiled weakly at the description. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Truth is, I’m used to looking after myself.” Reid took a deep breath. “When I was a kid, and I got sick or hurt my mom would let me stay home from school, but then she’d forget the reason why. She’d ask me later in the day why I was home and I’d tell her.” Reid looked away. “She called it, ‘taking a personal day.’ Sometimes when I was sick she’d go to the store and get some medicine, or whatever I needed, but then she’d forget to give it to me. I’d pretty much have to give myself the correct dosage. Not that I ever got it wrong, it’s just...well, you’re not supposed to do that when you’re ten years old. Mom is supposed to do that for you, right?” he asked, as if unsure if that really was the case.

“That’s right,” Morgan agreed, remembering the tender way his mother and even his sisters would take care him whenever he’d been sick. He distinctly remembered a nice warm bed, his mother’s homemade chicken soup, the smell of Vicks VapoRub, and the specialness of getting to watch re-runs of Kung Fu on his sister’s borrowed small black and white TV.

“My mom never did,” Reid responded matter-of-factly.

Before Morgan could fashion an answer the doorbell rang and he got up to answer it. It was the delivery man from the Imperial Dynasty.

The savory aromas from the delicious Chinese cartons packed neatly in the plastic bags wafted up towards Morgan’s nose, causing his mouth to water. Swiftly, he pulled out his wallet, peeled off a couple of bills, and paid for the food. Then he took the food to the table and efficiently laid out the feast.

When all was made ready, he called Reid to the table. The young man rose slowly to his feet and under Morgan’s watchful eye, made his way to the table where he took a seat. Reid looked at the tantalizing array of dishes and gingerly helped himself to a little of each dish. Next to Morgan’s heaped plate, his looked down right Spartan.

Morgan dug into his meal with relish while Reid picked at his and pushed the food around on the plate absently. After a time Reid spoke. “Thank you, Derek. This is great.”

Morgan noticed the sudden lack of enthusiasm in Reid’s voice. He paused in his eating. “You’re welcome, though if you really mean that you should actually do more than put the food on your plate,” he said, only half jokingly.

Reid feigned insult. “What are you talking about? I’ve already eaten half of everything on my plate.”

“Last time I looked, half of nothing is still nothing, Spencer,” Morgan teased gently.

Reid smirked, then while he held Morgan’s gaze, he deliberately picked up his eggroll and took an enormous bite out of it and began to chew.

Morgan’s fork stopped mid-way to his mouth. He’d suddenly lost interest in his own food as he’d watched, transfixed, as Reid’s sensuous mouth opened, showing a hint of white, even teeth before it closed around the egg roll, followed by movement of his sensuously-shaped lips as he chewed that Morgan found altogether enticing.

Reid was oblivious to the effect the simple act of eating an eggroll was having on one Derek Morgan. The younger man continued to eat what remained of the appetizer, chewing and swallowing until he’d consumed it all. Unfortunately, whatever degree of pleasure Reid had derived from the act of eating began to give way to nausea as a sickly green pallor commenced sweeping over his fair-skinned face.

Uh oh. Morgan leapt to his feet. “Spencer, are you going to be sick?” He felt a tad guilty feeling he’d pretty much challenged his lover to eat more when Reid, knowing instinctively what amount of food his body required, had gone for a minimal serving.

It hardly mattered that he had only wanted to see Spencer firmly on the road to recovery - making him sick wasn’t the way to do it.

Reid didn’t answer right away, rather he continued to sit with his eyes closed, taking deep breaths. Gradually, the greenish tint began to recede from his face. When he’d finally gotten his nausea under control, Reid opened his eyes and looked up with a wry expression on his face. “I think I’m done.”

Morgan’s conscience was eased a bit but he laid aside his own meal and rose to his feet. “Look, you still look pretty tired. I think I should head on home now and let you get some sleep. Why don’t I stop by at lunchtime tomorrow, if I can?”

“I am still tired,” Reid conceded reluctantly. Apparently not quite ready to let Morgan go, he hesitated for the briefest moments before clearing his throat and quietly asking, “will you be all right tomorrow?”

Morgan sighed. “I take it you mean, am I worried that my colleagues, despite how well they took the revelation about us initially, are going to treat me differently when I go back to work at the office tomorrow?”

“Yes, that is what I’m asking.”

Morgan rubbed the back of his neck. “To be honest, I wouldn’t blame them if they did.”

Reid started to protest, but Morgan held up his hand in a ‘wait-a-minute’ gesture. “I mean, think about it. For as long as they’ve known me, I’ve been basically lying to them - making them believe I was some kind of stud who was only interested in dating beautiful women.”

“You did date a lot of beautiful women, Derek.” There was just right amount of goodwill in Reid’s expression to coax a small smile out of Morgan. When Morgan didn’t answer, Reid continued his line of thought, speaking carefully and earnestly. “You didn’t lie. It’s a myth that sexuality is just like a record with an A and B side and that the majority of people are exclusively on one side or the other, all of the time. It’s much more complex than that. Think of it more like a continuum with room to slide up and down. Fewer people than you think are 100% heterosexual, or homosexual, and according to some leading sexologists, under the right circumstances, human beings can experience sexual desires and romantic feelings for either gender.”

Morgan thought seriously about what Reid said. Another time he might have teased the younger man about how he might have come by his knowledge about leading sexologists, but not now. What Reid had said did seem to explain what must appear to others, and sometimes to himself, as a sudden, unexplainable conversion, though Morgan knew in his heart, that hadn’t been the case.

He’d long felt sexual desire for his own gender, but the sexual abuse he’d suffered at the hands of Carl Buford as a youth had driven him to brutally suppress any hint of same-sex desire by the time he was in college.

“It’s true I enjoy having sex with women, but you‘re the only man I’ve ever given my heart to. I dream about touching, kissing, being intimate with you. I want to lay you down naked and give you everything I have with my mind and my body.” Morgan shrugged ruefully. “I just don’t think the others can really understand me wanting to do those things to another man. Why should they, when I’m still trying to understand it myself?” he reluctantly admitted.

Morgan had been looking intently at the man who had captured his heart as he spoke honestly to him. Reid had met his gaze steadily until Morgan had uttered his last sentence. Spencer dropped his gaze before replying softly. He suddenly sounded painfully unsure of himself. “I guess that makes two of us. Sometimes I don’t understand why you want to be with someone like me.”

Morgan reached out and cupped the side of Reid’s face. He gently brought the bruised, beloved visage up again until he could see straight into the deep wells of beautiful hazel. “Give me a chance to show you why.”

Reid swallowed convulsively, but he held Morgan‘s gaze. “Give our friends a chance to show you that you’re wrong and you don’t have to worry about them,” he countered.

Some seconds filled with silence passed before Morgan finally nodded his head. “I can do that.” Then he drew Reid into his arms, holding him and kissing him lightly. The kiss ended, but Morgan continued to hold Reid, enjoying the feel of the lithe body for a moment longer before releasing him with a groan of longing. “I’m going now. I shouldn’t have stayed even this long when you need to be resting.” He paused then added, “are you sure you don’t need any pain medication?”

“I’m sure. I’m going to go back to bed now. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Morgan gave Reid‘s face one last caress. “Tomorrow.”

Morgan sauntered towards the car and the smile on his face was wholly due to and for the man standing in the doorway stubbornly looking after him despite the fact that he was suffering from a headache and sensitive eyes.

 

*******

Morgan frowned in his sleep and moved his head deeper into the soft pillow beneath his head. The sleep to which he had succumbed almost as soon as he’d crawled beneath his covers had taken him to a soothing, warm place of peace and comfort. But something now was intruding upon his dreamless tranquility. He tried to ignore it and dive deeper into that state of blissful nothingness, but whatever it was, was becoming louder and more insistent.

With a groan, Morgan groggily cracked an eye open and looked out into a darkened room whose only illumination came from the green numbers on his nightstand alarm clock. He groaned again when he saw the time was 2:55am. What the hell

Now the noise was blaring and Morgan’s mind came into sharp focus as he realized that it was his cell phone. He quickly sat up and snapped the phone open. The only phone calls he ever got at that time in the morning came from either Hotch or Gideon.

Every BAU case they worked was important, but only occasionally were cases so urgent that they required immediate attention, regardless of the hour. They’d all been called into the office at one time or another in the middle of the night, but only as extreme circumstances dictated. Morgan assumed this was one of those circumstances and mentally prepared himself to commence his return to work in a matter of minutes.

“Derek here.” There was a few seconds delay in which Morgan heard a noise that sounded suspiciously like a stifled gasp and whimper of pain.

“Derek...” The voice sounded weak and tight with pain.

Much to Morgan’s surprise, the voice on the other end belonged neither to Gideon nor Hotchner. It belonged to Spencer Reid. Morgan was instantly on full alert. “Spencer what’s wrong?” he demanded, heartbeat spiking.

“Derek, I...I’m really sorry to call you so late. I need - I need...You were right, but I can‘t get the bottle open. I tried.” Morgan heard Reid’s strangled sob that held within a mix of frustration, pain and embarrassment.

Morgan held the phone to his ear while simultaneously yanking on a pair of jeans and slipping his feet into a pair of sandals. “Hang on, I’ll be right there.” He disconnected the call and as he did so, he briefly wondered if Reid thought he would say, ‘I told you so?’” There was nothing about the situation that Morgan found even remotely gloat-worthy. In fact, he felt guilty. He should have realized that eventually, an increasing level of pain would force Spencer to change his mind about refusing the medication. It never occurred to him that Spencer would never be able to get the difficult, child-proof medicine bottle open using only his non-dominant hand.

Within minutes he was pulling into Spencer’s driveway, jumping out of the hurriedly parked car. He strode quickly up to the front door and tried it. It was locked so he proceeded to knock. “Spencer, it’s me. Open the door,” he called out.

He heard the light footfall of Reid’s steps and then the door opened to reveal the young profiler standing pained and white-faced, cradling his injured hand close to his chest.

He was the picture of abject misery as he clutched the bottle of pain medication in his uninjured hand. Silently he held the bottle out towards Morgan. Morgan took it and stepped past Reid and headed straight to the kitchen where he filled a glass of water, pried off the difficult safety cap and shook out two of the pills. Without delay, Morgan took the medication to Reid and watched as the younger man swiftly dry swallowed them. Reid grimaced. Quickly, Morgan handed over the glass of cold water. “Easy,” Morgan cautioned as Reid gulped it down, draining the glass.

The ensuing look of relief on Reid’s face was purely psychological, Morgan knew. The medication needed time to work its way through Reid’s system, but nonetheless, Morgan couldn’t blame him - Reid had to have been hurting terribly to have called him in the middle of the night.

Morgan took the empty glass from Reid’s shaky hand. “Let’s get you back into bed.” Taking him by the elbow, he discreetly walked behind Reid as he shuffled back to his bedroom. Together, they entered Reid’s sanctuary where the younger man slowly collapsed upon the bed, still holding his hand close to his body protectively. He lay with his arm with the uninjured hand across his eyes, not looking at Morgan.

Reid sighed. “I’m sorry, Derek.”

Morgan sat down on the edge of Reid’s bed, very much wanting to stave off his lover’s obvious embarrassment. He hoped his voice conveyed the sincerity of his feelings. “You know we’ve got each other’s backs, right Boo? I‘d go to the moon for you. All you gotta do is call my name.” He smiled then. “Maybe you’ll do the same for me.” Slowly, Reid removed his draped arm away from his face and he looked squarely at Morgan with those expressive eyes like pools of green and brown..

“Thank you, Derek,” Reid said softy.

“You’re welcome.” Morgan pulled the covers up and over the slender form.  
Then he studied Reid with a critical eye. Morgan didn’t care for the pallor of his skin. The way Reid was looking now resembled far too closely for comfort the way he had looked in the hospital.

Enough was enough. Reid had refused his offer to come stay at his house and he would never have tried to manipulate him into doing so, but that didn’t necessarily mean that Reid didn’t want Morgan to stay with him.

Reid had what looked like an antique rocking chair in his bedroom. It was most likely a family heirloom. Morgan got up and dragged the beautiful piece of furniture over from its location in the corner and brought it close to the bed. He sat down and made himself comfortable in it.

Reid blinked, opening drowsy-looking eyes. It seemed to take an effort for him to turn his head in Morgan‘s direction. After he’d accomplished that feat, he’d licked dry lips before getting his question out. “What are you doing? You don’t have to stay here, Derek.”

“I’m not leaving,” Morgan replied flatly. “Besides,” he added in a lighter, teasing manner, “you gonna throw me out on the street at 3:30 in the morning?”

At that, Reid laughed weakly, looking far too tired to be exasperated by the streak of over protectiveness he knew he was exhibiting. Slowly, Reid slid his body over to the other side of the bed, pulled back the covers with his good hand, then he gently patted the space next to him. “Come on then. I’m not going to let you waste the rest of your sleep pretending that my dead grandmother’s rocking chair is comfortable enough to sleep in.”

Morgan smiled, genuinely pleased. “I’d like that. Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” Reid smiled at him and this time, the lines of pain around his mouth and eyes had eased considerably as the medication took hold, giving him relief from the pain. Though clearly sleepy and slurring his words slightly, Reid’s intent was firm and clear and that in turn, allowed Morgan to feel almost as much relief as Reid.

Morgan stood up and in one fluid motion, divested himself of his jeans. He kept on both his t-shirt and briefs, and climbed under the covers on top of Reid’s bed. With one arm, Morgan carefully drew his healing lover close to him. Reid moved into his embrace and with a blissful-sounding sigh, the younger man lay his head upon Morgan’s upper shoulder and chest. The long brown hair fell back from the forehead of Reid’s exquisite face to drape down on to Morgan’s body. Morgan’s other hand automatically reached across to tenderly stroke the strands of the silken curtain.

Reid sighed in pleasure and not longer afterwards, his eyes closed and he fell into a deep, healing sleep. It took a little longer for Morgan to follow him. He lay enjoying the feel of the slender body against his. He could hardly believe that he was here, lying in Spencer Reid’s bed, holding the young genius.

It felt so good, so right. There was no question in Morgan’s mind that the pleasure was mutual. Soon, Morgan thought, they would have other uses for the big, four-poster bed. Until that day, this was enough. It was more than enough.

 

********

Ethan Stewart fell back in shocked dismay as he stood in the empty hospital room. No, no, no, no! His mind chanted uselessly. Spencer Reid couldn’t be dead. His mind temporarily seized upon the possibility, tormenting him with morbid thoughts until rationality took hold and suggested the more likely scenario. Spencer had not died. In fact, he was doing so well that he’d been discharged, the new conclusion comforted him. Or he could have had a heart attack or a stroke and was now languishing in another wing of the hospital, his treacherous thoughts added. “Shut up! Shut up!” Ethan muttered aloud as he wrapped his arms around his shaking body.

He forced himself to cling to the former theory rather than the latter. Spencer had to be alive - he‘d know in his heart if he were not but how in the hell was he supposed to find him now? He’d been so close - so close to redeeming himself and reclaiming all he‘d lost. He cursed himself for the chance he’d negligently let slip through his hands.

Ethan began to pace about in the empty room, frantically muttering as the world tilted and just a bit more of his tenuous hold on reality slipped away from him. His mind was racing - hurriedly considering and discarding ways and means to locate Reid’s whereabouts. He realized he couldn’t campout at the main entrance of Quantico and hope to cross paths with him there. He wasn’t in good enough physical shape for that and if Spencer had been just newly discharged from the hospital, he wasn’t likely to be returning to work anytime soon anyway.

Suddenly Ethan drew up short. In his desperation, his cunning mind latched upon a plan, the cornerstone of which involved manipulating Ricky Stennis, the man who had rescued him, to get the information he needed - information, if discovered to have been shared by Stennis, would get the kind-hearted hospital worker fired.

Not so long ago Ethan would have balked at using someone who had shown him so much genuine kindness, but Ethan’s heart had grown hard and he was prepared to do what he had to. Stennis had become a tool to him and tools were meant to be used. Still, the remnant of the man he once was felt some measure of guilt for what he was about to do in light of how kind Stennis had been to him.

Ricky Stennis had taken him to the hospital, looked after his belongings, and visited him daily. He’d even snuck him a serving of his favorite pecan pie from Captain D’s. The man had extended his hand in friendship and had not, with the other, turned around and asked for anything.

Treachery could not be helped. He needed Spencer Reid’s home address and Stennis could get it for him if he were willing to negotiate with the right incentive.

And he was willing.

 

*******

“Ethan my man, where’s the fire?” It was well past 1:30pm when Ricky pushed his way into Ethan Stewart’s hospital room. He stopped in his tracks and stood staring at the man who looked utterly distraught as he paced around in his room. Ricky was smiling but he wore the expression as a mask to cover the genuine concern he felt.

When he’d rolled into work that afternoon he’d been inundated with not less than five messages from Ethan imparting an urgent need to speak to him. Ricky felt dismay. He had no idea what could be wrong - but he could see that Ethan had worked himself into quite a state. He’d been doing so well compared to when he had first brought the half-dead, sick man to the hospital. There was some color now in the pale face and his eyes didn’t look quite so sunken and dull.

“Ethan, what do you need?”

Ethan stopped his pacing and by sheer force of will, ceased muttering to himself. He took a deep breath and sat down in the easy chair by his bed.

“Ricky, I need your help to...to...” Ethan’s mind fished desperately for the right hook, “to save lives.”

“This sounds serious, bro. What do you mean?” Ricky asked,sounding genuinely concerned.

“I mean, if you could potentially save a lot of lives would you let some stupid administrative rule get in the way?”

Ricky stared blankly back. “Dude, I still don’t know what you’re talking about. Why don’t you start from the beginning?”

Ethan crossed his arms over his chest and prepared to relay a story that in his current fragile mental state, sounded very real and not like one more lie atop the ones he had told himself. It could be real. How can something that feels so real not be? “Okay. Okay,” he began with partially feigned reticence. “The truth is this: A few months ago I was involved in a relationship, only he was more in love with me than I was with him. After two months we broke up. During that time, I did a lot soul searching and he kept begging me to get back together. Eventually we did. I realized what a great guy he is, and he didn’t deserve to be hurt the way I did.” Ethan shrugged. “When he came back we both just sort of ...lost our minds.”

Ricky continued to stare uncomprehendingly at Ethan. “We had unprotected sex.” Ethan clarified. He drew his eyes down sorrowfully. “Neither of us knew he was infected with the HIV virus.”

“Is he...did he die?”

Ethan smiled inside. Ricky was sympathetic. Good. “No. He’s alive and he doesn’t know he’s HIV positive.”

Ricky looked confused. “He doesn’t know? But you said...”

“I said we got back together and we did...for one week. I did something stupid. I hurt him and he was devastated. He packed up and left and I‘ve been looking for him ever since.” Ethan’s eyes teared up, only it was not from the pain of the imagined breakup, but the anguish he felt for the real harm that he had done Spencer Reid the night he’d lain with him without the young man’s consent.

“Damn...I’m sorry man.” Ricky scratched his head and continued to look confused. “I still don’t have a clue as to what you need, and exactly what does that have to do with some stupid rules?”

“Everything! Just when you think life has about kicked all the shit out of you it turns around gives you the ultimate punt to send your ass into orbit.”

Ricky said nothing, he just continued to stare, a somber, concerned expression on his face.

Ethan felt himself getting wound up and he paced like a caged animal. The stress was getting to him, fraying his nerves until he wanted to scream at Ricky and demand that he give him the fucking address of one Spencer Reid. “He was here!” The words burst out of him. “The man I love was a patient here. I - I think he was hurt in some kind of accident, only I found out too late to talk to him, to tell him about having developed AIDS because he checked out this morning. Ricky, I don’t know where he went and I have to tell him. I have to keep him from unknowingly infecting anyone else.”

Ricky’s eyes narrowed. It was all too clear now exactly what the ill man wanted. What was being asked could cost him his job. Patient privacy was taken very seriously and deliberate disclosures of protected information was against hospital policy, not to mention out of his own comfort zone. He didn’t have time to open his mouth and object before something else flittered across his brain. A niggling thought begged for an answer. “What makes you think that your fre - ,” Ricky flushed, “lover doesn’t know he’s infected?”

A fair question. Ethan shook his head. “He doesn’t know.” This was no lie and the truth of the statement came through forcefully despite the falsehood it was cloaked in. “There’s no way he would have not told me if he knew, not to mention have unprotected sex with me. So you see, you are in a position to save lives. Tell me where he lives and I‘ll go to him, urge him to seek medical treatment.”

“You want to help him? Sure, sure, I get that. Let me talk to his doctor here, I’m sure he or she will know what to do.”

“No!” Ricky jumped and Ethan forced himself to take a deep breath and offer the bait he knew Ricky would not be able to resist. When all was said and done, Ricky would have made a deal with the devil. And what would he use to dangle in front of the good-hearted hospital worker? Why the one thing of value he still had, of course.

The thing that made males old and young green with envy or awestruck with appreciation was his car, his 1966 Ford Mustang. He would offer his fine ride in an even, free trade for the other man’s old Volkswagen beater with its rusted floorboards and frayed upholstery. Ethan gambled everything that Ricky would not be able to resist, and in the space of the next few minutes while he dangled the bait with all the skill of a snake offering an apple, he waited patiently to hear Ricky say yes.

And just as he knew he would, Ricky did.

Two hours after the deal had been struck, Ricky returned with a piece of paper containing the home address of Spencer Reid. Ethan snatched the paper from Ricky’s hand, eagerly reading it and committing the address to memory. He felt weak with relief and near to collapse. He all but fell into the comfortable reclining chair. “Thank you, Ricky. You did the right thing.”

Ricky shrugged and wouldn’t quite meet his eyes. “Whatever,” he muttered as he signed his name to the paper that Ethan had ginned up concerning the vehicle trade. “Listen, I don’t get off from work for a few more hours yet. I won’t have time to get my junk out of the Volkswagen until then. I’ll leave the car in the hospital parking lot and take a cab home, then I’ll drive the Mustang back and transfer your stuff to the Volkswagen. That gonna work for you?”

Ethan nodded his head. He was so relieved to finally have Spencer’s address that Ricky could have said that he was going to leave his stuff at the city dump and it would not have fazed him.

It didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered but the dream that he would make reality when he would blow this place tomorrow and head for Stafford County and the neighborhood where Spencer Reid lived.

Tomorrow he would tell the young man the truth. He would beg his forgiveness and he would find his salvation in the arms of the man who had the power to give it to him.

 

TBC


	22. Chapter 22

125 Tamarack Street. Ethan forced his claw-like grip around the fragile piece of paper containing Spencer Reid’s address to relax in order to reconfirm, for the hundredth time, that he was approaching his destination.

Not so long ago a much healthier, mentally stable Ethan Stewart would have looked at the paper once then crumpled it up and thrown it away, sure in the knowledge that the contents had been accurately committed to memory.

That was no longer the case. Ethan retained just enough self-awareness to recognize the fact that the sharp mind he’d had for the past 28 years was slip-sliding away, though he was ignorant as to exactly why. He hadn’t remained in the hospital long enough for the doctor to discover the lesions forming in his brain. In his sorry condition, bits and pieces of information escaped his grasping memory like sand leaking from a sieve. So he’d clutched the paper and his eyes had caressed the numbers and letters as if it was the object of his search rather than a mere means to the end.

Quantico was only 45-miles away and for every one of those miles, Ethan‘s mind played for him the reunion he had fantasized. The battered yellow Volkswagen that he’d traded his beautiful ‘66 Mustang for sputtered along, taking him mile by mile closer to the genius profiler. Once, Ethan had vaguely mused that he’d developed a symbiotic relationship with the old car. Just like he seemed to be running on the dregs of adrenaline, it too was running on fumes long after it should have been pulled over for a rest.

 

Ethan didn’t rest though - couldn’t really - not even for the sake of the old beater which was his sole means of transportation. Stennis had warned him about the need to stop periodically to add water to the radiator, but that advice had been received as well as so much noise in the face of his complete and utter fixation with his mission.

Ethan’s heart began to pound hard in his chest and his hands gripped the wheel tightly in a white-knuckled grip. He was actually on Spencer’s street. Any moment, as he counted down the house numbers, he would be in front of Spencer‘s home. In his mind he would knock on his door, beg for his forgiveness, and be reunited with the man he loved for whatever time they both had left in this world. Beyond that, he had no idea if there was an afterlife. He’d never believed in one before, but it occurred to him that now was a good time to hedge his bets and start giving it more meaningful contemplation.

Ethan drove down the street lined with brownstones until the one numbered ‘125’ came into view. A split second after he spied it, his fervent joy turned to consternation.

There were two cars in Spencer Reid‘s driveway. A light-blue Toyota Prius was parked next to a black Subaru STi. He frowned and licked his dry lips. Two cars?  
Both cars did not belong to Reid, he knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt, which could only mean that Spencer had company.  
At this hour? Ethan glanced down at the car’s radio and pushed the button to check the time. It was 6:40 am.

He mulled the matter over for a tense second or two before the most likely scenario came to him. A friend, or possibly an FBI colleague, had stopped by to look in on Spencer. Perhaps that person had even brought the convalescing agent some breakfast as a good deed while on their way to work.  
That has to be it, he thought, and some of the heightened tension in his body dissipated.

Ethan slowly nodded his head. True, while he had never confirmed the reason for Spencer’s hospitalization at the small facility in Ashland, what remained of his once highly analytical mind still believed his original conclusion: that Spencer had been treated for an injury and not an AID’s-related illness. Naturally a friend would stop by to see him. Of course his colleagues would look after one of their own, he reasoned.

Ethan decided not to have a problem with that - he just had no desire to stage a reunion with Spencer in front of an audience. No, that would never do.

Ethan further determined that he would simply ignore the rising pain in his body that pinched and bit at him like a yapping dog. He would block out the pounding in his head that flared up from time to time with sporadic regularity. He’d wait, and he’d watch, and then he‘d make his move when the time was right. Finding a safe driveway to park and keep watch was crucial and he needed to do it quickly. Whenever the residents from just the right home departed, Spencer would be one step closer to becoming all his.

He steered the car past Spencer Reid’s residence. The FBI agent he had once almost become seemed to resurrect itself as he scanned the homes on either side of the block, checking possibilities, marking some and discarding others in his search for the perfect place to park.

At this hour in the morning, the upwardly mobile of Spencer’s neighborhood were by and large, awake and in the process of departing for the day’s work in one steady exodus.

The majority of the subdivision consisted of white collar workers who went off to work wearing suits and carrying briefcases. A handful of Spencer’s neighbors were blue collar workers who dressed in casual attire or service uniforms. All were heading out now, and some of both groups had young children in tow, to carry out the daily ritual of departing from their homes only to return some eight or more hours later.

Ethan ignored the homes where he had initially noted the presence of two cars in the driveway prior to someone coming out and driving one away. Figuring that the remaining car was a good indication that someone else was still at home, he instead paid close attention to the homes where he observed only one car parked in the driveway. Ethan reasoned that the odds were better that no one else was at home once the car had been driven away.

Of course, it was possible that some of those single-car homes were actually households with more than one individual in residence, thus he could not be absolutely certain that no one else remained inside the home after the lone car was gone.

Nevertheless, Ethan selected one such home located down the opposite side of the street from Spencer’s home, but not too far down where he could not see Spencer’s home. At this residence he had observed a harried mother with a small child get into the car and drive off.

Perfect.

The driveway was lined on one side with a fairly dense row of hedges. This too pleased Ethan. He slowly drove back to the home and then smoothly backed the little car into the driveway. Then he pulled the car forward just a bit to give him as much of an unobstructed view of Spencer’s home as possible, without drawing notice to himself.

He was gambling all on his belief that his presence in this particular driveway would go unnoticed. He was right. No one noticed the sudden appearance of an old, battered Volkswagen Beetle in Alison Harris’ brownstone driveway. No one saw the ill-looking, pale, too-thin form hunched behind the wheel. His car, just like himself, had seemingly become invisible.

Good.

Ethan waited, slumped down in the driver’s seat with the ratty, torn cushion. His maniacal looking gaze never strayed from Spencer’s front door, effectively blocking out the signals his brain was trying to send his body to indicate that it was long past time for nourishment. He barely cared about that. In truth, he was no longer capable of caring very much.

Time seemed to stretch out as the minutes passed by slowly. The crawl of time toyed with Ethan’s senses as he sat there, in turn, leaving its own mark. Eyes wide open, unfocused, Ethan looked with rapt attention upon the colorless vision his mind, without warning, conjured up.

 

The wood front door opened, slowly revealing Spencer - his beautiful Spencer standing within the frame, unmoving save for his fine hair blowing gently in a phantom breeze. His feet were bare and he was clad in a plain t-shirt and jeans. Spencer turned his head and his eyes somehow looked across the street, through the hedge and straight into Ethan’s soul  
His heart thundered in his chest. “Spencer! I’m here!” he thought he cried aloud, but no sound came out.

Spencer‘s face and Spencer‘s expressive eyes radiated a sense of pain and loneliness. “I know.” The young man stepped back inside and gently closed the door. Then Ethan was out of the car and running. He was running as fast as he could to get to Spencer and yet the harder and faster he ran, the farther away the door appeared until the house with Spencer in it seemed to compress then melt away until there was nothing but his despair and a knifelike pain running through him.

Why had Spencer disappeared? Why had he not looked ecstatic to see him? 

Pay attention! A sharp voice inside his head abruptly scolded him.

Ethan gasped and brought his body forward with a hard jolt, blinking his eyes rapidly. The illusion was so real. It never occurred to Ethan to question why the waking world and one that wasn’t, were becoming harder to distinguish.

The ill man ran a shaking hand through what remained of his once thick hair before checking the time. Had five minutes passed? He took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes, squinting hard to check the scene over at Spencer’s Brownstone. Nothing had changed. The other car was still parked in the driveway.

Ethan lowered his hand and he stared down at the rough, jagged nails, then past them to look down the length of himself at his clothing. When he’d left the hospital, he’d done so wearing the same clothes he’d arrived in. At that time they’d not been particularly bad off, but the clothes were a little ripe now. He sniffed the air and wrinkled his nose in disgust when he caught the faint whiff of sweat smell and foulness. Was this any way to greet the man he loved, the man he’d driven all this way from New Orleans to be with? He doubted it.

Spencer would expect a certain level of hygiene from his lover, dying or not. Spencer deserved that and much more. Right now, Ethan knew he was well-below his own standards ,despite his time in the hospital and access to soap and clean water. He needed to make himself presentable and that meant a bath in a cheap motel room and some scissors to trim the dull, scraggly remnants of his once lush, brown hair.

Ethan realized something else too. He shouldn’t approach a man like Spencer Reid empty-handed either. Should he not bring the young genius some token of his affection? Ethan’s mind ran over the possibilities: a bottle of wine? Some flowers? Ethan frowned. Just where the hell was he going to get enough funds to cover a motel room much less some gifts? At the most, he had about twenty bucks left on his credit card. The only other thing of value he had, other than the car, was his grandfather’s broken, antique pocket watch.

Slowly, Ethan reached around for the small bag that contained his other clothes and the watch. Bony fingers unzipped the front pocket and drew forth the watch that he’d carefully wrapped in a handkerchief. Instead, what his fingers brushed was something quite unexpected.

It was an envelope. Curious, Ethan pulled out the envelope and saw that it was addressed to him. He opened it and pulled out a note penned in neat block letters. His eyes widened in stunned amazement when a one hundred dollar bill slid out from the folded paper. Ethan snatched the bill up and examined it incredulously from all sides before forcing himself to put it down and read the note.

 

Ethan my man!  
Look, I know this is probably gonna shock the hell out of you, but I figure by the time you find this, you’ll be far away and in need of the cash so it won’t matter anyway. Don’t think I don’t know that you got the short end of the stick in our little, “car for info” trade. My beat up wreck for that fine ride? Shit, I’m no do-gooder but I still gotta live with myself, you know what I’m sayin‘? It ain’t much, but it’s all I got to make things feel a little less like stealing from a dead man. Scratch that last remark, I didn’t mean it like it sounded. Seriously, best of luck to you, bro.

Your friend,

Ricky

 

Ethan stared at the note until the letters began to blur into inky splotches. “Thank you, Ricky,” Ethan whispered. He folded the note, placed it back in the envelope, then put the envelope back in the bag. The Benjamin went into the folds of his wallet.

 

*******

The sleep that had so thoroughly and gently enfolded Morgan began to fall away and as it did, the sleeping man’s senses gradually awakened and informed him of several things all at once. First, he was not in his own bed. This bed seemed to cushion his body comfortably in a way his own familiar, firm mattress did not. No, this was not his bed. Second, he was not alone. Morgan opened his eyes to find that he was lying on his side spooned behind a warm, slender body wrapped in his arms.

This body belonged to Spencer Reid. He was in Spencer’s bed with his body spooned protectively around the sleeping man. A slow smile spread across his face. If anyone had told him a mere two months ago that this was where he’d be, on this particular morning, he would have laughed his head off.

Well he wasn’t laughing now - in fact, he groaned low in his throat as certain parts of his anatomy signaled his brain conflicting sensations. He had started to move his body in a languid stretch, but then he abruptly pulled up short when the pain from his lacerated back sent him a reminder that it was still healing and tender.

That particular input from his pain receptors paled in comparison to the other thing he was feeling. Morgan put the discomfort from his injured back aside in favor of a more urgent need pressing for his attention. In his current position, with his groin hotly pressed up against the curve of Reid’s trim buttocks, he had awakened with a raging erection tenting his briefs and poking against Reid’s backside. Morgan fought to stifle the groan that tried to make it’s way up his throat, to rise right along side the heavy ache stemming from the hardened organ between his legs.

With stealthy smoothness intended to keep Reid from awakening, as well as to extricate himself from his painful predicament as rapidly as possible, Morgan slowly withdrew his arm from where Spencer‘s tousled-haired head lay cradled and moved away. Immediately the space Morgan created between their bodies made him feel bereft of something that felt like home. Morgan sighed and reluctantly continued pulling his body away from the enthralling warmth of Reid’s sleeping form.

His gaze landed on the alarm clock and he saw he had just under an hour to return home, clean-up and report in on time at Quantico. Just thinking about what might await him at work was sufficient to deflate his stiffened penis, and for that, he was grateful.

Morgan arose from the big four-poster bed and slipped quietly into his jeans and shoes before coming over to the other side where Reid lay. Morgan’s eyes took in the sight of the man he loved.

Like a living, breathing Raphaelite painting, in sweet repose, Reid was a vision of alabaster skin, blush rose on high-sculpted cheek bones. The slender man rested on his side, his injured hand held loosely against his chest, the undamaged one tucked beneath his head. His forehead was un-creased, for the lines of pain that had etched themselves into his fine features, in the earlier hours were gone. Instead, a peaceful expression was upon Reid’s youthful features and the long lashes that rested like dark butterflies against his skin made him appear much younger than he was. Reid’s sensuous mouth was slightly parted, revealing just a hint of pearl white under the edge of the upper lip.

Innocent, Morgan thought.  
He looks innocent. But Reid wasn’t - not by far. No one could be after having looked at, handled, dealt with the kinds of evil - the utter depravity - that was part and parcel of being a member of the BAU. Reid’s encounter with Tobias was only one of the events that had brought home that truth. It was a reality that Morgan could read in the young profiler’s eyes under the light of the waking world; but not for this moment in time, while Reid lay in dreamless slumber.

A part of Morgan wished that he could preserve the unguarded, innocent way Reid looked right now, forever, but then the young genius wouldn’t really be Spencer Reid.  
His Spencer had the courage to look upon evil and come back fighting with the full-force of his God-given intellect and compassion. Among other things, that is what Morgan, and anyone else who cared to look, saw in Reid’s eyes.

Derek Morgan reached out and in a farewell gesture, softly caressed the strands of long, brown hair splayed in every direction in such an endearing fashion. As if sensing his presence, Reid’s eyes opened and Morgan found himself lost in the depths of hazel warmth, momentarily unable to move.

Reid blinked sleepily before Morgan found both his powers of speech and control over his muscles. He squatted down so that he was eye-level with Reid. “Good morning,” he said, keeping his voice low and soft. “How are you feeling?”

Save his lips which curved upward in a grateful expression, Reid didn‘t move. “Good. I feel good,” he answered sleepily. He looked puzzled as if trying to work out just why Derek Morgan was in his bedroom at this hour of the morning. The young man’s gaze never left Morgan’s face, but Morgan saw the exact moment when full memory returned to Reid. The tips of his ears had flushed red and the eyes looking at him now spoke of embarrassment. “I am so sorry…”

Morgan instantly lifted a finger and gently placed it against Reid’s lips. “I’m not. That is, I’m sorry that you were in pain, but I’m not sorry that you called me and I’m certainly not sorry for having had the best sleep of my life,” he amended.

Reid smiled and the embarrassed look vanished. “That’s funny, I had the best sleep of my life too.” He looked wistfully over his shoulder at the empty space in the bed next to him. “Next time I’d like to try it without the drugs.”

“You got it.” Morgan leaned over and gave Reid a swift kiss before he stood up. “I gotta go. I’d like to stop by at lunchtime if I can get away. You okay with that?”

Reid’s eyes said yes, but he worked his mouth around a weak protest. “You don’t have to do that, I’m fine.” His eyes glanced at the loosely capped pill bottle on the nightstand. “Really,” he added, this time firmly.

Morgan tracked Reid’s gaze to the medicine bottle. “See you later,” was all he deemed necessary to say, leaving it up to Reid to interpret just when he might return. With that, Morgan took up his car keys and departed for an uncertain reception from his colleagues.

******

 

Thanks to the unexpected act by Ricky Stennis, Ethan now had enough money for a room and something decent to give to Spencer. As soon as whoever was inside Spencer’s place left, he’d go to a store and buy a pair of scissors and whatever else he needed to make himself more presentable. Maybe he’d even buy some soap powder and wash the set of clothes he was wearing if the motel had a laundry room.

Once he’d settled on a new plan of action, Ethan was hard pressed to keep his energy focused on sitting and observing Spencer’s front door. Still, he wasn’t going to leave until he’d seen Spencer’s friend leave first.

Fortunately, it wasn’t much longer before the waiting paid off, for suddenly the front door of Spencer’s home opened and a good-looking, well-built, African-American man emerged. Ethan watched closely as the stranger casually donned a pair of shades, strode directly over to the Subaru, got in, and drove off .

Ethan breathed a sigh of relief, and it was in that moment that the so deeply ingrained, hidden seed of racism, that was a by-product of the cultural heritage of his upbringing betrayed him by leading him to an assumption so subtly that it never occurred to him to question its validity or origin.

In Ethan Stewart’s experience growing up in a Louisiana was vastly different from what he‘d known before while living in Nevada. Louisiana, on the surface, was an integrated state. In reality Ethan’s Old South suburban neighborhood, where the majority of his relatives lived, was very much a racially and socially segregated place. What had gone on historically in secret was one thing, but whites and blacks in open romantic relationships with each other were rare and still not socially acceptable.

Without even being aware of what he’d done, Ethan’s mind had automatically relegated the unknown black man to a role in the most inconsequential scenario: that of nothing more than a helpful colleague come to check on his injured teammate before work. The conclusion that Spencer Reid had taken a black man for a lover did not even register as a possibility on Ethan’s mental radar.

In any event, the man had left, and Spencer was alone. Ethan had both money and a plan and he was eager to put it in motion. Suddenly, a racking cough seized Ethan then, making him choke and gasp painfully for air in compromised lungs until the fit passed. An ill-timed bout of weakness swept over him then bringing with it a lassitude and an urge to sleep that Ethan fought against. He was desperate to avoid falling asleep in the stranger’s driveway, but he was forced to concede that at the moment, rest was what he really needed so that he could be at his best when he approached Spencer.

He only needed enough energy to find a motel room where he could sleep for a few hours. As soon as he felt reasonably rejuvenated, he’d find the nearest supermarket. Ethan groaned and by sheer force of will powered his hand to start up the car. He blinked his eyes to clear away the encroaching fog and bring bleary objects into focus. Then he was slowly pulling out of the driveway, steering the little car down the road and away from Spencer Reid’s street, unnoticed by anyone.

 

*******

“Shhhh…Morgan alert, coming from your left,” Prentiss hissed as she buried her head in the folder on her desk and pretended to be engrossed in it. Emily’s move inconveniently left JJ, who was standing next to Prentiss’ desk, to make a decision: either she could stand there and pretend to be equally engrossed in her coffee cup, or she could acknowledge, head-on, the return of her colleague and friend.

And Morgan was her friend, just as Reid was. The BAU team had more than a few days to get over the startling revelation that the two men were in love with each other. In truth, the hardest event to get over had been the near loss of both of their lives over an unfinished overpass. Still, on the first morning of Morgan’s return to work, Jareau and Prentiss had mused on how Morgan would behave around  
them more then the other way around.

There was a slight hint of awkward uncertainty in the air as JJ watched Morgan’s approach and her tentative smile turned into a frown when she noted that the suave agent had yet to remove his shades. That was not a good sign. JJ didn’t need to be a profiler to recognize that he was shielding, blocking anyone from seeing into his soul in a moment of uncertain vulnerability.

In moments JJ had her answer when Garcia bounded up into the bullpen on Morgan’s heels and gently put her arm about the handsome man’s waist as if escorting him to his desk. The blonde gave Morgan a peck on the cheek. “Welcome back, Derek.” Garcia released Morgan and smiled up at him. “Now don’t get me wrong, you and Dr. Reid have been missed and all, but between me, JJ, and Emily, well…we’ve gotten used to the new gender-balance around here.”

Morgan took his shades off and grinned. “Are you saying, I’m now the lone rooster in the hen house?”

Garcia laughed diabolically. “With all due respect to Gideon and Hotch, I’m sayin’ that means the new hot topics around here don’t include fantasy football, racy jokes, or fuel injectors.”

Jareau and Prentiss looked relieved when Derek laughed easily and looked at them with the same genuine respect and easy affection he always had before letting it be known that he was romantically paired with the enigmatic Dr. Reid.

“How are you feeling?” Emily asked, her dark eyes serious as she assessed Morgan openly.

Garcia stared at Prentiss with mock incredulity and before Morgan could respond, she winked at both women, knowing just how to embarrass Morgan. “Ladies are you blind? This specimen of manly strength and vigor has never, and I do mean never been in finer form,” she crowed.

Morgan groaned and shook his head with a rueful smile. “Not quite. This particular specimen wishes his back would stop itching. But thanks for asking,” he added, with a grateful glance Prentiss’ way.

Sensing that the reunion was over and it was time to get to work, Prentiss turned her attention to her computer monitor while Jareau made a graceful exit back to her own office. Garcia gave Morgan a long and serious look before raising a perfectly arched eyebrow and crossing her arms over her ample bosom. “I guess that means you and I are off now that you’re officially with Reid and all, huh?” she asked in a conspiratorial whisper.

Morgan laughed low and thumped the place over his heart with his open hand. “You’re still my baby girl. Nothing can ever change that.”

“That’s what I want to hear.” Garcia grinned and walked off leaving Morgan to take his seat at his desk.

Two minutes later he was still smiling at the ease of the reunion.

Morgan was surprised. The relief he felt at this initial welcome back was more intense than he had anticipated. Morgan reflected on the fact that some things never change. Some things were not meant to change. This morning he had badly needed the grounded feeling that came with being amongst his colleagues who were like family. He had needed to know that despite the fact that he had voluntarily turned his life upside down, in so radical a fashion, he could continue to be who he was: Derek Morgan, a good friend and a good agent. Being back at the job he loved was mere icing on the cake.

Derek sighed and glanced in the direction of Aaron Hotchner’s office. There was still one more interview to pass through, he knew. From where he was, he could clearly see part of Gideon’s form as he sat in one of the comfortable chairs in Hotch’s office. He wasn’t sure about those two. Everyone knew there were unofficial rules against fraternization, but thus far, they’d never had occasion to be challenged. Hotchner was more of a stickler for rules than Gideon and Hotchner was Unit Chief.

On the other hand, both men were reserved, private, introspective types. It was unlikely that one of them would spend any significant time on the subject of his and Reid’s sexuality, even considering the almost fatherly relationship that existed between Reid and Gideon.

When all was said and done, what Morgan hoped was that the primary concern for both senior men would be that he and Reid would continue to conduct themselves as the professionals they were and which the team needed.

As if hearing Morgan’s thoughts, Gideon suddenly rose from his chair and came to the door of Hotchner’s office. “Derek, would you come in here, please?”

“Sure,” Morgan replied despite the sudden dryness in his mouth. He rose and managed to walk with his customary sureness and athletic grace into Hotchner’s office. His stiff posture once he was standing in the office was the only tell that gave away his inner discomfort.

“Relax, Derek,” Gideon murmured.

Hotchner cleared his throat. “It’s good to have you back, Morgan. How’s your back healing?”

“It’s coming along fine,” Morgan assured.

“Good,” Hotchner said. “Unless you tell me otherwise, I’m going to assume that you’re up to being back on the job.” Hotchner’s piercing eyes locked on to Morgan as if seeing straight to his soul. Morgan stared back - not challenging, just enduring the scrutiny for the sake of reassuring his boss that he recognized what the situation was and what was expected.

A sudden shift in Hotchner’s eyes signaled the end of the assessment.  
“We have a 9:00 am briefing in the round table room,” the Unit Chief advised.

Morgan knew a dismissal when he heard one, and he was grateful. In a conversation as brief and seemingly limited in topic, Hotchner had communicated everything that needed to be said without directly delving into an uncomfortable discussion about his private sex life. Work was work and whatever he and Reid were to each other on their off time was their business.

Morgan went back to his desk and threw himself into the task of getting caught up on the small backlog of emails and phone messages before the morning briefing. He was counting on staying busy to make the time fly before he would be able to get away to visit with Spencer at lunchtime.

If his eyes strayed towards Spencer Reid’s empty desk a little more than usual, who could blame him? Nothing could change the fact that he was a man in love.

 

*******

The morning passed with Morgan steadily getting caught up with emails and tasks, briefings and post-case analysis. He had just finished up a rather lengthy return phone call when he glanced up at the wall clock and observed that it was late enough to be decently considered lunchtime. Morgan was hard pressed not to snatch up his car keys and barrel out of the bullpen. Instead, he closed up the open files he had on his computer and stood up.

Prentiss looked over Morgan’s way. “Hey, you feel like grabbing some lunch? JJ and I are going to check out that new sandwich shop on Six Ten.”

“Another time. I’m actually going to bring some lunch over to Reid. Let me know how it is though, okay?”

“Of course. Give Reid my regards, will you?” the dark-haired woman replied with a warm smile.

“You got it. I’ll be back but it may be longer than an hour today.” Morgan made his way to the elevator banks like a man on a mission. Being that neither he nor Spencer was fond of fast food, he planned on picking up food at his favorite supermarket gourmet deli. He wouldn’t have as much time to spend with his love, but it would be enough to give him pleasure and peace of mind to see that the younger man was all right.

Minutes later, Morgan made good his escape from the confines of the federal building when he drove his car out of the dark, underground garage and into the bright sunshine of the outer world. He smiled a little and put his Ray Bans on feeling a bit like a hormonal teen in love.  
Yeah, I’ve got it bad. 

 

*******

After twenty minutes of incessant buzzing, the nightstand alarm clocked finally roused Ethan from the deep sleep into which he had fallen. The former jazz musician groaned and reached out blindly, knocking the alarm clock to the floor. Where the hell was he? He felt the man-made fabric of a cheap comforter against his underwear-clad body and felt the hard, unfamiliar mattress.

Finally, he opened his eyes and blinked to clear the sleep from them. Then he sat up and cleared the confusion from his mind. The Spring Lake Motor Lodge. He had secured a room at Spring Lake though why it was called that, he had no idea since it had neither spring, nor lake. What it had was a double bed with a quarter massage machine, ratty carpet, a small refrigerator, a noisy air conditioning unit, and a bathroom whose state of cleanliness was dubious.

He didn’t really care. He’d paid his $25, plus a $20 key deposit (he’d declined to pay the $20 deposit for the TV remote) to the elderly, disinterested clerk. Then he’d locked himself in the room and fell upon the bed in exhaustion. He’d only barely stayed awake long enough to set the alarm clock for 11:00 am so that he could take a shower, shave, and trim what remained of his hair.

Forty-minutes later Ethan Stewart, rested, feeling better and refreshed, was once again back in his car. He drove in the direction of Spencer’s neighborhood, all the while looking for a decent place to pick up some food and gifts.

He passed several of the fast food places, instinctively ignoring them. Despite the brief reunion he’d had with Spencer weeks ago, and despite the considerable length of time that had passed since he’d been at the FBI academy with him, Ethan remembered that Spencer preferred to eat mostly fruits and vegetables. He ate meat, but did so sparingly. Greasy fast food would never do for the man he loved and with the various illnesses that had waged war against his body, he found meat completely unappetizing for himself.

 

Ah, there it is. Ethan looked to his left and pulled into the parking lot of the Giant supermarket. He was familiar with Giant’s gourmet deli and knew that in one stop, he could walk out with not only a little food for lunch, but a bouquet of flowers, and perhaps a champagne bottle with which to give Spencer.

Spencer Reid.  
You are so close now, the seductive voice was whispering again. There would be no one and nothing to get in the way of their reunion, or the apology that he had rehearsed to explain his actions and gain the younger man’s forgiveness. Spencer would look at him with his soulful, beautiful brown-green eyes and Ethan would read in the depths therein all of the understanding and love he so craved.

Next he would unfold the tablecloth and adorn it with lit candles. He would lay out a feast of gourmet delights and after they had gorged themselves on it, they would feast upon each other, fully tasting the delights of the flesh. Ethan parked the car then shuffled into the store, not even aware that he was mumbling to himself the words, “almost there. Almost there.”

At 12:20pm the store was bustling and the aisles were crowded with shoppers pushing carts and trying to maneuver their way around each other.

Ethan had long become immune to the way people tended to react to him. Even now he was oblivious to the way the crowd seemed to miraculously make way for him down the middle of the aisle as if he were Moses parting the Red Sea. Despite the fact that he had put on fresh clothes, despite the fact that he had bathed, shaved and trimmed his hair, Ethan’s obviously ill and wasted appearance made him look very much like a man being pursued by Death - and losing the race.

Ethan took the ease in which he selected and was served his deli items as confirmation of the rightness of his actions. So what if the girl appeared to hastily put the bagged items on the counter rather than risk her hand coming into direct contact with his. Ethan took the food, thanked her and smiled, showing swollen, infected gums.

Next he grabbed a bouquet of flowers and selected a decent bottle of white wine over champagne to go with the meal.  
Good. Good. Ethan continued his combination of mumbling, shuffling movements until he found himself in the shortest check out line, standing behind a tall, African-American man.

A tall, African-American man.

There was something familiar about this man…something about his stance, the width of his broad, perfectly proportioned shoulders, his shade of coloring. Ethan’s senses went on alert and he leaned forward like a restrained bloodhound that’s picked up a scent. He longed to spin the man around and see him from the front, but if he waited for the customer in front of the man to finish, then the black man would be next at the register. Then he would be able to at least see the man’s face from the side.

The woman currently being waited on dickered over a coupon discrepancy while the fingers of the man in front of Ethan‘s subtly tapped along the side of his leg.  
In a hurry, are we? Ethan supposed.  
Well so am I.

Finally. The woman at the register took her groceries and her coupon box and left. The man in front was now facing the cashier and Ethan got a good look at him from the side. Yes, he  
did look like the man he‘d seen coming out of Spencer‘s house, but…still, he could only see the man’s profile. He’d been across the street when he’d first seen the man. He really needed to take in the man’s face from the front to tell for sure.

Ethan couldn’t help but see that, like him, the man was also purchasing food from the deli. The man must have gotten there just before he had.  
The man was speaking to the woman working the cash register and Ethan actively listened.

“Hi Wanda.”

The woman named Wanda smiled at Derek and pushed some unruly loose strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail back from her face. “Well hello, Derek.”

 

Derek. His name is Derek. Ethan filed that bit of intel away.

Wanda looked with an appreciative eye on one particular purchase. Her blue eyes lit up. “God, they have the best panninis here. The turkey, Swiss cheese and avocado one is my absolute favorite! It tastes so good,” she enthused, all the while efficiently ringing up the items.

Derek smiled. “Good. I’m hoping my friend will like it too.”

Wanda was counting back his change when she spoke again. “I love to kick back, and have a nice glass of Chardonnay with one of those. You and your friend should try it.”

Derek pocketed his change and grabbed the bag. “Sounds nice but I gotta pass on that. My friend is recovering from an accident and pain meds and alcohol don’t mix.”

“No they don’t,” Wanda said after the retreating form of Derek Morgan.

Ethan frowned when he considered this Derek’s possible destination. He was going over to a friend’s house. A feeling of extreme displeasure came over him.  
No. No way is this man going back over to Spencer’s home. Ethan tried to tell himself that it was a coincidence that they had both ended up at the same supermarket deli at lunchtime. Surely this man had plenty of friends besides Spencer Reid.  
Of course he has more than one friend who happens to be recovering from an accident and needs looking after, right? The phantom voice dripped with sarcasm stinging him like Jack Daniels on an open cut.

The cashier named Wanda turned back around, a prepared greeting on her lips for the next customer in line which she abruptly aborted for her lane was suddenly empty. She did a double take. Hadn’t there been someone rather sickly looking in line behind the handsome customer she knew as Derek? Oh well. Customers changed lanes all of the time. Wanda shrugged and gave the man no further thought. “I can help you over here.” Wanda smiled brightly when a harried woman with a baby and two hyper toddlers pushed an over-burdened grocery cart into her check-out lane.

*******  
Morgan exited the store with the food and strode purposely towards his car. He was so focused on getting out of there that his senses never alerted him to the set of eyes that followed him with unusual intensity. He felt rather than saw the form that suddenly bumped into him before tripping and sprawling in a heap right in front of him.  
What the hell? Morgan heard a loud, painful grunt and then a long pitiful-sounding moan coming from a man on the ground.

While the sudden collision had sent the one man spinning to the ground, Morgan, with his easy athletic grace, nimbly spun on one foot to the side, quickly regaining his balance.

The man’s face was turned away and Morgan saw only the top of his head with more splotchy scalp showing than hair. The boniness of the frame on which the head rested clearly showed through the clothing. Morgan was under the first impression that he had collided with an old man. “Sir, are you okay?” Morgan asked with concern.

The man didn’t answer, but rather began to get to his feet slowly and painfully. Morgan instantly reached out to grab hold of the man’s arm to gently assist him to his feet. The man raised his head and Morgan fought his urge to drop the man’s arm in shock. Truth be told, Morgan was temporarily repulsed by what he saw.

This was no old man. He was young - or at least he had been in counted years. The man was clearly beyond unwell with gaunt features and hollow eyes. The unfortunate soul looked as though he was being eaten alive by disease and Morgan sensed the aura of death around the man that made Morgan’ want to back away. Morgan’s self-control kept him standing his ground. “Are you all right?” Morgan asked, and then immediately felt foolish. Even a blind man could tell the man was not okay.

The ill-looking man was now on his feet and Morgan was relieved to see that he appeared to be steady and unhurt as a result of his abrupt impact with Morgan’s person.

“Fine. I’m fine. Man, I’m really sorry; wasn’t watching where I was going,” the man muttered, not quite meeting Morgan‘s eyes. Morgan vaguely noted that the man’s accent marked him as being from somewhere else, but he didn‘t immediately place it.

The stranger brushed his clothes off then looked ruefully down at the rip in one pant knee before looking back up. For a bizarre instant, Morgan thought he’d seen a strange glint in the man’s brown eyes that he could not put a name to before it vanished. Morgan frowned. Had it ever been there? Despite the fact that Morgan was in a hurry, his concern for the man kept him from simply righting the stranger and continuing on his mission.  
“You’re sure you’re not hurt?” Morgan rephrased.

“Yeah. I didn’t see you, man. Hope I didn’t ruin your lunch date.”

“Nah. You didn‘t ruin anything.” It was only a semi-lie. Morgan held up the bag for the benefit of the man. He kept his expression neutral, though he felt slightly dismayed when he saw the bag’s condition. It had suffered a severe dent from the bodily impact, ripping the bag. Some of the sandwich wrapping had poked through, exposing part of a pannini. Morgan sighed internally. There was no help for it, there was no time to go back inside and reorder the sandwiches.

Morgan stepped forward, ready to be on his way.

Ethan smiled and his broken grin turned suddenly malicious-looking. “Oh, okay, but I bet he won‘t like squashed turkey and avocado either.”  
Morgan drew up short at the assumption the man had made that the sandwich was intended for a male friend and the fact that he was aware of what he‘d purchased. Had that been just a lucky guess and a harmless observation?

“Excuse me?” Morgan kept his eyes on the stranger’s face. This time his brain automatically scanned the man’s features closely, cataloguing eye color, nose and mouth shape - everything in an attempt to match the face to anyone he knew. There was nothing. His mind came up blank and Morgan concluded that even allowing for the man’s illness-ravaged appearance, there was still nothing in his features that reminded him of anyone he’d previously encountered.

The man’s face assumed an innocuous expression. “I just meant that  
I wouldn’t want to eat a jacked-up sandwich that I paid good money for. Don’t think most people want to pay for food that’s damaged, much less eat it.”

“Riiight,” Morgan said signaling with the tone of his voice that the exchange was over. This unexpected encounter was taking up time he didn’t have. The stranger was unhurt, even though he looked as though he could use a good hospital bed, “If you’re sure you’re okay, I’ll be on my way.” Morgan made a move to step around the man, but evidently the stranger had other ideas when, in a move reminiscent of some ungainly jig, the man sidestepped in the same direction, effectively blocking Morgan’s move.

The corner of Ethan‘s lip lifted. “Bet he’s a retro kind of guy, huh? Yes, sir, just give him a PB&J sandwich and he’s happy. There’s something about PB&J that reminds folks of simpler times. Skippy peanut butter and looney mom after school, ya know?”

Morgan’s back stiffened and his senses went on full alert as a disturbing prickly sensation ran down his body. What the hell‘s going on here? Had the strange man just made an oblique reference to Reid? Something about this man was off. Morgan’s eyes narrowed and his whole body assumed a dangerously aggressive stance. “Look, I don’t know who you are and I don’t care, but if you’re some kind of stalker, you need to get the hell out of my way before you buy yourself a whole lot of trouble you can’t pay for.”

Ethan crossed his arms over his narrow chest and stood his ground. “I’m not stalking you anymore than you’re stalking him.”

 

What? Morgan’s warning instincts were no longer sending out subtle alarms. No, they were shrieking at him. He’d gone to Giant Supermarket and slid into a side-trip into the twilight zone. In an instant the athletic agent dropped the bag with the food and with lightning fast reflexes, grabbed the man by the arm and shoved him face first against the building. Morgan pinned the unresisting man to the wall by one of the man’s arms that Morgan held twisted behind the man’s back. He leaned over and whispered into the man’s ear. “It’s question and answer time. I ask the questions and you answer. Are you hearing me?” Morgan pressed the man harder to emphasize his point.

“Let me go. Get your hands off me or I’ll call the police,” the man hissed, struggling weakly.

Morgan fished for his badge with his one free hand and shoved it in front of the man‘s face. “I’m FBI Special Agent Derek Morgan. You want law enforcement, you got it.”

Morgan felt the tension in the body in front of him easing and in response, the agent eased his own hold on the man just enough to spin the man bodily around so that they were face to face. “Who are you and what do you want from me?” Morgan demanded harshly. He looked into the man’s eyes but they were unreadable pools of shifting light and conflicting emotions.

“Nothing. I don’t know you and I don’t want anything from you other than what you‘ve already given me,” Ethan stated, holding his hands down by his arms, palms out.

Morgan‘s grip tightened again. “Why are you all up in my face tryin’ to get information? Who are you?” he fairly snarled. He wasn’t afraid of this man. The man looked like he could barely stand up, but Morgan had, through his law enforcement training, learned to trust his knowledge of criminal behavior. From his older sisters, he had learned never to ignore his own intuition. Right now both were telling him that this man intended harm.

“Let go of me and maybe I’ll tell you and all these good people watching,” Ethan replied coolly as he made a vague gesture outward with a trembling hand.

Morgan looked around and noticed three or four individuals who had apparently stopped in order to look on with growing curiosity. The more jaded side of Morgan’s psychological profiling experience told him that they were watching, avidly in anticipation of violence.

Morgan ignored them and turned his attention back to the man in front of him. “I’m going to ask you one more time. What’s your name and what do you want?” His voice was low, his tone iced around the edges with deadly warning. His gaze never wavered from the red-rimmed eyes of the other man.

Ethan‘s voice stuttered before gathering strength. “My name is Ethan Stewart. I know the man you went to see this morning. He and I go back a long way. He‘s the same man you’re bringing food to now, only you must not be a very close friend ‘cause you haven‘t the vaguest clue what Spencer likes to eat or what would make him feel better.”

 

StalkerProtectReidStalkerProtectReid. Hackles raised up on Morgan’s back as his brain processed the nebulous threat that this man was a stalker, but who had the man been stalking, Reid or himself and for what purpose? Morgan‘s mind raced through the obvious facts: the man knew where Spencer lived; the man knew that he’d been over at Reid’s home this morning.

Morgan was thrust head-long into protect mode as his flaring temper mixed with increased concern for his lover’s safety. Reid, who was alone in his home, recuperating from his injuries. Reid, who was probably sound asleep in his bed and certainly oblivious to the encounter Morgan was now having with a stalker.

Morgan remained rational despite the sharp, sudden rush of adrenalin that had shoved him hard into heightened alertness. Spencer Reid was a capable agent, able to defend himself and others if pressed. In this case though, Morgan was going to make damn sure that he wouldn’t be forced to unless absolutely necessary.

The perturbed agent deftly employed some elicitation tactics to pull the truth from the man. “You’re a liar. You don’t know Reid. You don’t know anything about my friend beyond what your twisted brain made up.”

Morgan watched intently as Ethan’s face assumed a mocking expression. “Are you a betting man, Derek Morgan? You want to wager on the fact that I’ve known Spencer a lot longer than you?” The smirk faded as Ethan’s eyes seem to grow darker and inward-looking. “I’m older than he is, but ever since we were kids I was playing catch-up to his brilliance. Back then he was all buck teeth and coke bottle glasses but then…even then I knew he was beautiful.” Ethan shook his head and Morgan sensed that the man had gone somewhere in his head.

 

“After I dropped out of the Academy I never thought I’d see Spencer again. I was…” Ethan coughed delicately, “indisposed for a few years.”

“I want to know what the hell you want with Spencer and you better tell me now!” Morgan punctuated the word, ‘now’ with a tightened grip on the man’s shirt.

Ethan was suddenly looking at Morgan with a curious expression, as if seeing the agent for the first time. Ethan was silent before answering. “Ah, but that’s not the question, is it?” he said, giving Morgan a conspiratorial wink. “The question is, after all that time apart, why did Spencer track me down and come to see me in New Orleans?”

New Orleans. There it was again like something rotten between himself and Spencer that had been laid in a shallow grave and covered over. A shiver ran down Morgan’s spine, though he didn’t know precisely why. New Orleans should have been just another geographic location, not something that evoked such a strong, negative gut reaction. But it wasn’t, and it had.

It was to New Orleans that Reid, in a deeply emotionally troubled state, had fled after abandoning his profiler duties. New Orleans was the place where Spencer had acted in total contradiction to his normal responsible, mature self. It was, according to Spencer, the place where he had hooked-up with a man who lived there. While he and Emily Prentiss had gone to Galveston to interview a witness as ordered, Spencer the shy, reserved, awkward Spencer Reid had uncharacteristically run off to New Orleans and had sex with a man he‘d never before even mentioned to his teammates.

And now that man was standing in front of him with a half-smirk on his face and eyes that spoke of many things - none of them good.

“Yeah, you know why Spencer came to see me in New Orleans,” Ethan challenged. He did not wait for Morgan’s response, but pushed on, heedless of any consequence. “He came to me because he needed to be with someone who understood him. He begged me to make love to him because he needed to be able to feel again. I gave that to him. I touched him all over and I went down on him until he came screaming my name.”

Stunned, sickened, Morgan instantly stepped away from the man, releasing him from his grip. Without Morgan’s considerable strength and rage pinning him to the wall, Ethan’s body began a slow slide down until he was sitting on the ground. Morgan’s mind swirled in confusion as conflicting thoughts and emotions fought for preeminence. Repulsion clashed with unreasonable, blinding jealously at the thought of this miserable man with his hands on Spencer’s body, touching where he himself had yet to touch, tasting where he had yet to taste.

Yet even as Morgan felt the urge to smash something, his mind could not reconcile the green tide of jealousy arising at the thought of this man as Spencer’s lover, with the pathetic vision of the wretched, haunted figure before him now. Even without the man’s gaunt appearance, the scraggy thinned-out hair, and the sores on the skin of the pallid face, there was something terrible lurking in the depths of the man‘s dark eyes.

Morgan struggled to order the thoughts assailing his mind. Those same thoughts had him half-questioning the veracity of his conclusion that this man before him now and the man Spencer had slept with in New Orleans, were one and the same. Morgan shook his head, trying hard to comprehend that the shy, geekish Spencer had once found something in this man, so now steeped in decay that he looked late for his own funeral, desirable enough to take him as his sexual partner for a night.

Morgan’s mouth had gone dry and words failed him. He stood still, staring down at Ethan sitting on the ground. He vaguely noted the trembling in the body below and Ethan’s gaze shifting from right to left. Surreal was the only way Morgan could describe the moment. How in the hell had he gone from bringing Spencer lunch to having a confrontation with some diseased stalker?

Suddenly, Ethan’s red-rimmed eyes widened in what appeared to be shocked revelation. His thin lips curve upwards in an ‘I gottcha’ expression. “You didn’t know your genius FBI co-worker is gay did you? Well he is and I love him and he loves me.” Ethan’s eyes were now looking inward at something only he could see. “We belong together,” he whispered. The faraway look vanished and Ethan’s eyes snapped to Morgan’s face. “We  
will be together.”

Delusional. The man was completely delusional and there was no telling just how dangerous he was, how far he was willing to go to force his delusions of resuming a relationship onto Spencer Reid. Morgan had no idea how he knew it, but he was absolutely sure there was something else, darker, more dangerous behind Ethan’s imagined declaration of mutual love.

For the first time in a very long time, Morgan felt powerless. He hated that feeling with a passion born of having lost too many friends to the mean streets of Chicago. It was a passion springing from a coach who said he’d be as a father to him, willing to help him escape those streets, while all the while masterfully manipulated him into silently enduring the sexual abuse of his body. It was anathema to that part of his strong, confident self he’d worked his ass off to become ever since the day he’d moved out of his troubled Chicago neighborhood and stepped foot on a college campus on his way to becoming a crack FBI profiler.

He was going to have to let this man go because he’d broken no laws for which Morgan could summon the local authorities to take Ethan into custody. That knowledge, along with the feeling of powerlessness it evoked, irked him like fingernails scraping down a blackboard.

For a moment, Morgan simply stood still while his features - judging from the way Ethan shrank away - fixed themselves into a hard, unfathomable cold expression. Morgan’s mind was rapidly turning over the known facts. Evidently, Ethan thought he didn’t know Reid was gay. Morgan had no idea how long the man had been stalking Reid, but it probably had not been for long. Ethan clearly had no idea that he and Reid were in a relationship with each other. If Morgan had any say in it, this man would never find out, nor would he come around bothering Spencer while the injured man was at home recovering.

Slowly, with the smooth deliberate movements of a great cat stalking his prey, Morgan reached down and pulled Ethan to his feet. “Look at me,” he demanded harshly. He made sure that he held the man’s undivided attention, and when he spoke his voice was low, his tone promising pain and retribution if Ethan did not heed the warning he was about to deliver. “I don’t give a damn what you and Spencer did together in New Orleans.” Morgan punctuated the lie with a shake to Ethan. “But I’m telling you this: stay away from him. You don’t call him. You don‘t follow him. You sure as hell don’t show up at his home unless he invites you on a written invitation carved in gold. Are you hearing me?”

Suddenly, Morgan released Ethan when he noticed a small trickle of blood winding its way down the pale face with the cheek bones showing in sharp relief. The man‘s nose was bleeding and Morgan felt instant guilt. Ethan barely kept himself from falling over as he wiped at the nosebleed with the edge of his shirt. Despite battling his personal rage, the professional in Morgan rose to the fore. “Look man, it’s pretty obvious that you aren’t well. I suggest that you see to your own situation with a doctor. I can take you to the hospital and after I do, that‘s the last I ever want to see your face.”

Ethan kept dabbing at his nose until the trickle of blood ceased, all the while appearing as though he were seriously contemplating Morgan’s words. Finally when he was done he looked up at Morgan and spoke the words Morgan wanted to hear, but knew beyond all reason, were a lie.

“Okay. I hear you.” Ethan held out his arms, hands palm up in a gesture of surrender. Ethan laughed then and the sound was a tired, hollow one, tinged with a touch of psychosis that Morgan has seen before in captured UnSubs. Morgan shivered and in the blink of an eye, the pitiful man before him seemed to transform, making Morgan think that he’d just gotten a glimpse of the man who had existed before whatever plagued him now, ravaged both his looks and his mind.

Then it was gone and the Ethan Stewart who had unequivocally creeped Morgan out by all but announcing that he‘d been stalking Reid, the Ethan Stewart who stirred up feelings of anger and jealously was back, looking at Morgan with a curious, half-smirk on his face.

“It’s a free country, G-man,” Ethan said, “and Spencer is a free, intelligent adult in case you don‘t know him all that well - which it appears you don‘t. I’ll be talking to him real soon and you can’t do shit about it.”

Ethan’s arms were wrapped around himself like he was holding everything together. Carefully, on unsteady feet, he got himself upright and walked right past Morgan, past the few people who were still looking on curiously. Disappointed that there was no outbreak of fisticuff, the onlookers dispersed, already thinking about other things. Ethan acted like he didn’t see them. He kept walking - right past his car ’cause he didn‘t want Morgan to identify his vehicle and he knew Morgan was watching.

When Ethan disappeared from view, Morgan allowed the tension to drain from his body. He checked his watch and was shocked to see how little time has actually passed. It seems to him that his little side trek to the twilight zone took longer than it actually had.

He saw the bag with food on the ground and looked at it dispassionately. Lunch was ruined and he had no desire to eat the food he’d purchased. He didn’t even consider giving it to Spencer - doing so would be akin to giving his lover food that had been…tainted. All he wanted to do now is go to Spencer’s home, hold him, and alert him as to Ethan Stewart’s disturbing presence in their town.

Morgan picked up the bag and tossed it carelessly into the nearest trash receptacle. Ethan Stewart was trouble. The deepest part of Morgan’s being told him that something, far more than he could see, was very, very wrong. What it was precisely remained maddeningly a mystery.

The one thing Derek Morgan  
did know for certain was that, no matter how deathly ill Ethan appeared, if he did anything to harm Spencer Reid, Morgan would kill him himself.

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and sharing your comments.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for such a short chapter. 
> 
> Happy Easter to those who are celebrating!

Reid put down the book he’d been reading and answered his ringing phone.  
He smiled when caller ID showed Morgan’s cell phone number. “Hello Derek,” he said in greeting.

“Spencer. How are you doing? Everything been okay?” Morgan asked as nonchalantly as he could. He was less than five minutes away from Spencer’s home but the bizarre encounter with a man named Ethan Stewart had left him with a heightened need to hear Spencer’s voice and desire for reassurance that the younger man was safe.

“I’m fine, Derek. And you? Everything okay?”

Derek, his mind still on the bizarre encounter, answered a bit more sharply then he’d intended. “Of course, why shouldn’t it be?”

There was a small pause and in it, Derek could imagine the wheels in Spencer Reid’s sharp mind turning.

“No reason - unless you know of one,” was Spencer’s calm, steady-sounding reply - which told Morgan he hadn‘t fooled the exceptionally perceptive, younger man one bit.

Derek grinned sheepishly. Spencer’s keen perception notwithstanding, had he really been that transparent?

“Where are you?” Spencer inquired.

Derek adopted a more casual tone with just a hint of a smile. “ETA your place in two minutes - way too close for anything to go wrong.”

“Actually, statistically speaking, more car accidents of the fatal variety happen within ten miles of a person’s home,” Spencer countered matter-of-factly.

Morgan grinned, all the while sweeping the scene around him with his sharp eyes to ensure he’d not been followed. “Ah, but I’m not going to my home.”

“You could be,” Spencer softly said.

Morgan instantly forgot all about checking for a car possibly tailing him. He swallowed hard. The words Spencer had spoken were simple enough, the trouble lay in how to interpret them correctly. What did the young genius intend? Did he mean that Morgan could literally change the course of his current destination to his own residence, or had Spencer just subtly delivered an invitation for him to move in with him?

Morgan found the latter possibility surprisingly mind-blowing. Never before in the many romantic relationships that he’d had with women over the years had he ever even contemplated a living arrangement that included cohabitation.

What would that be like? They would share so much more than just a bed. There would be meals cooked, bills split, and closet space divided. Spencer would enlighten him on the efficacy of placing the roll of toilet paper under verses over, Morgan would introduce him to the joy of cooking soul food.

“Derek?”

Spencer’s inquiry broke through Morgan’s musings just as he reached the old brownstone and pulled into the driveway. “Hey, I’m here. See you in a second.” He ended the call and put away his phone without waiting for a response. Seconds later, Morgan was inside Spencer’s home and his heart beat faster when he saw the young man standing there with a smile on his face that Morgan knew his presence had put there.

Morgan’s lips sought out Spencer’s and he grasped the young man in a light but tender embrace.

Suddenly, Morgan felt intensely lucky and incredibly afraid all at once. The residual tension caused by the bizarre encounter with Ethan Stewart surged to the forefront, bringing with it all of the emotions that he’d fought to keep in check. He hated the fact that a man who looked two steps away from death’s door had the power to arouse such distasteful feelings of jealousy, fear, and helplessness in him. He hated the fact that his instincts had and were still telling him that the man was dangerous and yet he had no specific threat upon which to act.

And then there was the sex between Ethan and Spencer.

That was the aspect that Morgan hated being confronted with; or rather, having to admit to himself how much just knowing about it still bothered him. Before the surprise encounter with Ethan, the suave agent had dealt with what Spencer had told him by making the choice to move on from the topic. True, he had never stopped hating knowing that Spencer had run off to New Orleans instead of doing his job and ended up in bed with a man he had not seen in years, but he had determined that not only was it not his business, but that he had no right to bring it up.

Unfortunately, the jealous anger he’d felt when Spencer had first told him about it was resurrecting itself and intensifying in the wake of having actually seen the man from New Orleans with his own two eyes.

He must have held the slender form a bit too long because Spencer gently disengaged himself from the strong arms that held him. He stood apart, looking at Morgan with a concerned, speculative look.

Morgan ignored the expression and abruptly proceeded to Spencer’s kitchen. “You look much better,” he called over his shoulder in a clipped tone. He heard himself and tried and failed to force a more relaxed attitude into his voice. “I’m sorry I didn’t bring food, but if you give me a second I can whip up something real quick.” He rummaged around and found canned soup and some bread.

“Uhm, you don’t have to do that, Derek. I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself,” Spencer replied as he came into the kitchen.

Morgan kept right on preparing the food, trying hard to gain control of himself.

His mistake was glancing up to look into that exquisite face with the open, trusting expression.

Before he knew what happened, the restraint he had over his emotions snapped like a rusted bolt holding a barn door closed. “Like you did in New Orleans?” he heard himself snap.

Spencer stopped dead in his tracks and aghast, Morgan watched as the younger man’s face paled and his eyes darkened into a hurt, puzzled expression. “Excuse me?” he said softly.

Morgan was beyond appalled. The hot blood of shame instantly suffused his face. What was he thinking? Why had he thrown that in Spencer’s face as if any of the weirdness that happened with Ethan Stewart was somehow his fault? Morgan sighed contritely and approached the young genius. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I said that.”

“We both know that’s not true,” Spencer replied bluntly.

He was still looking at Morgan but the older man could see that Spencer’s eyes held a little less of the hurt expression and more of something that projected concern.

“Morgan what happened?”

“Not now. Let me get you something to eat first and then we can sit down and talk,” Morgan proposed.

Spencer looked exasperated. “What makes you think I want to eat food when I know something happened to get you so rattled - and don‘t tell me it has anything to do with a new case you’re working on either.”

Morgan startled at that. “Why do you think this is personal?”

Spencer gave him a look that clearly said, ‘Are you kidding me?’ “Derek, I’ve seen how you work and I know you’re unflappable when you are under pressure in some pretty bad situations. This is personal.”

Morgan kept stirring the soup on the stove - his only means of cooking food since Spencer had no microwave. He’d once asked him why he didn’t have one and Spencer had sheepishly admitted that growing up, his mother had a strong aversion to them and had never had one.

“Hell yes, it’s personal,” Morgan eventually admitted in a low voice.

When the soup was thoroughly heated, Morgan brought it to the table, served in two bowls along with two spoons, one of which he set next to each bowl.

Silently, the two men took seats at the table and Morgan commenced eating while Reid did not. Eventually, Morgan put down his spoon and gave his younger lover a penetrating stare. “It’s about Ethan Stewart.”

Hazel eyes widened, mouth quirked into an angle denoting his surprise, Spencer looked completely off-guard. “What about him?”

“He’s here. He’s stalking me…you, and there’s something very, very wrong with him.” He should have been, but he wasn’t prepared for the totally pensive expression that crossed Spencer’s face.

Spencer scratched the back of his head. “Ethan’s here? You say he’s been stalking us? How do you know this?“

Morgan sighed. “He was watching your house this morning. He knows I was here. I have no idea how he knew I’d be at the Giant Supermarket, but he pretty much accosted me there. Spencer, listen to me. He’s not…he‘s not playing with a full deck. My gut tells me he’s dangerous.”

Spencer stood up abruptly and began pacing while holding his injured hand to himself in a protective posture. Morgan knew that look on Spencer’s face. It was the look he got when the young profiler was trying to solve a problem without sufficient facts. He stopped pacing and turned around on his heels. “Tell me what he said,” Spencer demanded.

“He’s in love with you. He thinks that you and he are in some sort of romantic relationship.”

“What?” Spencer looked at him with a mixture of incredulity and confusion. He frowned. “I don’t…I haven’t talked to him since New Orleans.”

Morgan outwardly winced at hearing New Orleans.

“What else?” There was a pause before Spencer repeated the question.

“He said that he made you feel again. He said he was the only one who could do that for you,” Morgan hesitated before he said in a voice so low that Spencer had to come close and lean forward to hear him. “He said you screamed his name when he made you come.”

Spencer flushed a bright red, though he refused to drop his gaze away from Morgan’s. “I told you what happened in New Orleans, Morgan,” Spencer stated carefully.

“I know,” Morgan replied, equally as careful. The situation was fast sliding out of control and down a slippery slope of unintended accusatory tones. “The man’s not well. Up here, ” Morgan tapped his head, “and in his body. I have no idea what’s wrong with him, but I’m telling you, he’s a very sick man.”

An odd expression crossed over Reid’s face and Morgan thought it just might be sorrow mixed with a healthy dose of guilt and that just confused the hell out of Morgan. Exactly what did Spencer Reid have to feel guilty about? He wanted to look into those eyes and find the truth but now he couldn’t see Spencer’s face for the young man’s head was hung low with locks of his hair hanging down obscuring his features.

The tall, slender form that had been relaxed and comfortable in his own skin when Morgan had first stepped through the door had morphed into something tense - a body radiating a certain uncomfortableness that Morgan found painful to observe.

When Spencer finally lifted troubled eyes to Morgan, the older man knew he wasn’t going to like what he was about to hear.

“It’s ironic, Derek,” Reid began, speaking softly. “When I went to see Ethan in New Orleans, it was the first time I’d seen him since our brief time at the FBI Academy before he dropped out. Ethan used those exact same words to describe me.”

Morgan frowned. “What words?”

“Not well,” Spencer replied neutrally.

He was looking at his soup like he could analyze the molecular structure of it if he stared hard enough and Morgan wanted very badly to know what was going on behind that mask Spencer had so expertly dropped down over his face.

“He sat across from me and we were dancing around the subject of exactly why I was there in New Orleans. Then he told me flat out that it was pretty obvious that I was not well. He didn’t have to explain what he meant, and of course, he was right.” Spencer hesitated for the barest of moments. “ I was hurting myself with Dilaudid,” he confessed in a low voice.

Morgan‘s mouth went bone-dry and there was a spinning sickness in the pit of his stomach. He shook his head. This was insane: Spencer Reid, walking around with illegal drugs? Using them for God’s sake! How the hell did Reid get his hands on a powerful drug like Dilauded? Morgan was in denial that he could be hearing this. Not this, oh God, not this. His mind took him to the next logical conclusion and he wanted to be ill on the spot. “You and he were sitting around up there doing drugs together?” he croaked.

“No. No!” Spencer’s eyes were wide in denial and then they darkened from a shame, old and miserable as for the first time, he admitted to Morgan just how far a hole Tobias Henckle’s actions had shoved him into. “I - I had used them - in Virginia - but I didn’t do drugs with Ethan, I swear it.”

“But he did,” Morgan said flatly as all that he knew about Spencer Reid suddenly seemed uncertain.

Spencer shook his head in frustration. “No. He kept me from doing drugs because he,” Spencer’s face reddened again, “because he stole the drugs from me and flushed them down the toilet.”

Morgan’s world was rocked by the admission of Spencer’s illicit drug use. He’d thought he’d seen everything in life and that nothing much could shock him, but he’d been well and truly proven wrong by this revelation. Morgan rubbed the back of his head tiredly. At least one aspect of this picture was becoming clearer. He thought he understood now the cause of that guilty look in Spencer’s eyes.

“You think Ethan’s abusing drugs?” Morgan asked. It certainly looked like a strong possibility when he thought about Ethan’s wasted appearance, the death skull with the dark circles under the eyes, the bad skin and thinning hair. The man looked like a junkie, and yet, not quite… Morgan hardened his heart. If he is, that sure as hell isn’’t Spencer’s problem.

Spencer spoke, his words unwittingly contradicting Morgan’s conclusion. “Maybe, and if he is, it’s partly my fault.”

Morgan raised an eyebrow in challenge. “Yeah, and how do you figure that?”

“Because…” Spencer’s voice trailed off and his eyes held a pained expression. “Because he’d been clean for years. He’d kicked a really bad heroine habit and all of a sudden, out of the blue, I drop into his life with my problems and…and my very own bottles of Ethan’s personal hell.”

Morgan’s heart ached at connecting the dots because the cohesive picture emerging meant validation of Spencer‘s guilt, and damnit - Ethan‘s mess still wasn’t Spencer‘s fault, but the reality was that it would still leave him up-creek without a paddle trying to convince the younger man of that.

Spencer claimed that Ethan disposed of the drugs. Morgan blew out a breath of air. “Did you see him use drugs?” he asked gently.

Time stood still and in the silence, Morgan waited.

“I told you, no,” Spencer finally answered. There was so much defeat, so much guilt and sadness in those words. “I believed him.” Spencer whispered. He shrugged his shoulders and looked Morgan in the eye. “In the end, it doesn’t really matter if he did or not. He found the bottles and just seeing those drugs and handling them would have been enough to set that need off again. It never would have happened had I not taken those drugs from Tobias and brought them with me.”

Morgan shuddered. How could he not have known this? How could he have been oblivious to the fact that the man he cared so deeply about had suffered far more from what he knew Tobias Henckle had done to him when he‘d kidnapped the young man? God he felt sick. Had anyone known just how much Spencer had suffered after his rescue from Tobias, or had he endured the burden of his fall into illegal drug use alone?

Much to his dismay, Morgan saw that Spencer, who just a moment ago, had unflinchingly taken the blame squarely on to his shoulders for reintroducing drugs into Ethan Stewart’s life, no matter how inadvertent that act had been, was no longer looking at him.

Morgan didn’t have to be a genius to know that the young man was feeling an almost unbearable shame and a fear at what Spencer thought he might see reflected in his eyes. The older man’s heart ached because he knew exactly what that felt like. When Hotchner and Gideon had uncovered his terrible secret of past sexual abuse, there hadn’t been a hole deep enough that could swallow up the depth of his humiliation and self-loathing at being found weak, corrupt - and when the deceitful voice inside his head was most insidious - stupid enough to be a victim in front of people who thought of him as strong, smart, a man whose integrity could not be questioned.

Morgan approached Spencer and with an ease born out of profound love and respect for the younger man, gently pulled him to himself, placing Spencer’s head upon his shoulder with a strong hand. At first, Spencer’s body was stiff, as if not wanting to accept the comfort his arms offered, but then a small sigh escaped Spencer’s lips and caressed his skin right before the slender form in his arms relaxed.

“You’re only human. You made a mistake and you didn’t mean to hurt anybody. I’m just so sorry that I wasn’t there for you to help when you were hurting that bad.”

Spencer shrugged ever so slightly. “It’s not easy to help if the person keeps all of their pain inside.”

Morgan accepted the words for what they were: a gentle rebuke from Spencer regarding the fact that he too had kept his own pain under wraps. He’d swallowed his mortification and anguish and kept it away from Reid and the others after Gideon and Hotch had ripped his secret out of him during a visit home to Chicago. At the conclusion of the false case against him, his former abuser, Carl Buford had been hauled away in handcuffs in the presence of himself, Gideon, and Hotchner. In the immediate aftermath, he’d been left standing there, confronted with the resurrected ghost of that hurt little boy he’d once been, too angry, too humiliated to even speak.

He’d hidden his pain behind a mask and told them to their faces that he’d forgiven them, yet deep down however; he’d harbored resentment and mistrust of the two men who had once earned so much of his professional and personal respect. What they had done in discovering his secret had not been the betrayal of Carl Buford, but in some ways it was worse.

Over the years he’d thought less and less of Carl Buford until the other man, and what he‘d done to him, were just bad memories he’d ruthlessly put behind him. Buford had been out of sight and out of mind. On the other hand, he had to see Gideon and Hotchner every day. In the field they often had to watch each other’s backs, but ever since Chicago Morgan had never really been quite sure if that didn’t included having to watch his own against Gideon or Hotchner.

There were no words for the moment so they stood there then; holding each other in silence, each assuaging the old hurts of the other.

At length, they reluctantly released the holds they had on each other. Morgan stepped back to visually assess the younger man. Spencer was calm, the shield of guilt and reticence he’d briefly retreated behind, was gone. Morgan recognized an opportunity to move on from the issue, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it, he was still reeling from Spencer‘s revelation.

The fact that Spencer’s pain, in the wake of being kidnapped and tortured, had been so profound as to have led the young genius into drug use, and that he’d known nothing about it, was eating at Morgan. What was worse was the thought of this intelligent, gentle, brave man enduring that kind of suffering all alone. He should have known. He’d seen the signs of Spencer’s distraction. The young man had asked for space and foolishly, he’d given it to him. He was kicking himself now for that. Even Emily Prentiss who was still relatively new to the BAU at the time, and hadn’t known Spencer for very long, had noticed that something was off with the young man.

“Spencer, did anyone else in the BAU know about the drug use?” Morgan asked.

Spencer nodded his head, looking generally miserable. “I told Gideon, and Hotch.” He blew out a breath of air. “I needed help and I knew if I didn’t get it, things were going to spiral out of control.” He laughed a humorless, self-deprecating sound. “They didn’t fire me. They kept everything quiet and arranged for me to go to a substance abuse support group.”

“I see,” Morgan replied. And he really did. Some of the things he’d seen and wondered about Spencer during the weeks following the young genius’s rescue from Tobias now made sense. Spencer had been in distress and showing signs too subtle to be clearly read until he’d been forced to seek out counseling. Why hadn’t he kept looking for answers? Why had it been so easy to respect Spencer’s clear messages to back off? Had it been an unconscious recognition that Spencer Reid was keeping a terrible secret that needed to be kept private from the others as much as the one he himself once had, but had instead, been exposed to his horror? “I am so sorry,” Morgan said simply.

“For what?” Spencer said sharply. “It’s over now. In the past, and I didn’t want you to know anymore than you wanted me to find out about Carl Buford.”

“Yeah, well now I can see that that was a mistake,” Morgan replied gruffly.

“No. No it wasn’t. What happened to you was…private and it wasn’t your fault, and it didn’t impact on your ability to do your job. You had every right to decide when and where to tell anybody about it.” He shrugged. “What happened to me, I did to myself, and my actions could have impacted the entire team.”

Morgan crossed his arms over his chest, and stared down at the ground for a moment then he looked up. “Maybe, but none of that really matters now, does it? Ethan Stewart’s out there and he may or may not be planning to try and contact you.”

“I can handle him, if he does. I’ll find out what’s wrong and try to get him some help if he needs it.”

Something cold and coiling inside Morgan twisted. It made him want to grab the young man by his slender shoulders and shake him until he too felt what he had felt, seen what he had seen in Ethan Stewart. The man was unbalanced, delusional and determined that he and Spencer were in a fantasy relationship that could never be. Morgan’s instincts were telling him, beyond reason and at the most primal level that, under no circumstances should Spencer have any contact with Stewart.

But Spencer wasn’t his to order around. Never would be. Spencer Reid was a fellow agent whose intellectual brilliance was unmatched. Morgan had tremendous amounts of respect for his skills and courage. Still…the older agent had always looked out for Spencer because the young genius’s strong areas of capability did not include physical strength to employ in self-defense. Without a weapon, Spencer was exceptionally vulnerable in light of the fact that the average man outweighed the weight of his extremely thin frame by nearly 50 pounds.

Morgan sighed in frustration. He knew without looking at his watch that he was already over due from his lunch break. He was out of time and fresh out of words eloquent enough to keep Spencer from away from Ethan should Stewart make contact. He placed his hands gently on Spencer’s shoulders. “I’ve got to go now. Do me a favor and promise me one thing.”

Spencer quirked an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

And as much as he wanted to hold Reid in his arms and make him promise to not take any phone calls from Ethan, not open the door to him, not agree to meet - Morgan could not bring himself to speak those words that could be mistaken of lack of confidence in the younger man. Instead, he pulled Spencer to his chest and met the soft, sensuous lips with his own mouth, bestowing a thoroughly deep, long satisfying kiss that said without words, ‘I love you. I believe in you. Be careful.’

Then he left leaving Spencer to wonder just what promise Morgan had wanted to extract from him.

 

TBC


	24. Chapter 24

Morgan sighed in frustration. He knew without looking at his watch that he was already over due from his lunch break. He was out of time and fresh out of words eloquent enough to keep Spencer from away from Ethan should Stewart make contact. He placed his hands gently on Spencer’s shoulders. “I’ve got to go now. Do me a favor and promise me one thing.”

Spencer quirked an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

And as much as he wanted to hold Reid in his arms and make him promise to not take any phone calls from Ethan, not open the door to him, not agree to meet - Morgan could not bring himself to speak those words that could be mistaken of lack of confidence in the younger man. Instead, he pulled Spencer to his chest and met the soft, sensuous lips with his own mouth, bestowing a thoroughly deep, long satisfying kiss that said without words, ‘I love you. I believe in you. Be careful.’

Then he left leaving Spencer to wonder just what promise Morgan had wanted to extract from him.

*******

“He _what?”_ Garcia hissed from her perfectly red-tinted, glossed lips. The buxom blond held up a hand, to halt whatever Morgan’s response would have been while she crossed the floor and closed the door to her office. Garcia leaned against the door and took a good look at her obviously agitated friend. She took a deep breath and tried to compose herself before she sought badly needed clarification. This was not the time for quick quips wrapped in hysterics. This was about helping her dearest friend who right now, was a jumbled caldron of seething emotions that ranged from anger, worry, fear, and something that looked curiously enough to Garcia like hurt. 

A mere five minutes ago she’d been savoring the last delicious bite of dessert, courtesy of a cyberspace lunch date with her out-of- town, technical analyst boyfriend, Kevin Lynch. Kevin’s smiling face from her computer monitor had been all Garcia had wanted and expected to make her anticipated lunch date enjoyable, but to her great surprise and pleasure, there’d been nothing virtual about the ravioli and tiramisu that had mysteriously appeared on her desk after she’d gotten a call from JJ saying her presence was immediately needed in the briefing room. 

After Garcia had received JJ’s call, she’d cursed herself the entire way after she came to the panicked, but erroneous conclusion that she had somehow forgotten some scheduled meeting in her eagerness to spend time with Kevin. She wasn’t in the habit of showing up late for meetings - or to forget about them for that matter, thus it was with no small degree of consternation that she’d arrived only to find a dark, quite deserted room. 

She went looking for JJ next but came up with only an empty desk. Curiously, the whole bullpen seemed to be deserted, except for Gideon’s office where Garcia could see through the open doorway that Gideon was not alone. Hotchner was there too and the two men were engaged in deep conversation. 

She hated to disturb the senior agents, but nonetheless, Garcia went over and rapped short and loudly on the door frame. Both men looked up at her and the blond coughed nervously. Her eyes immediately went from Aaron Hotchner’s sharp, impassive gaze to Gideon’s warm and encouraging one.

“Yes, Penelope?” the older agent asked.

“I uh…,” she’d blushed, she suddenly felt foolish. “You haven’t seen JJ have you?” 

“No. I imagine she’s gone to lunch though,” Gideon answered. “Is there something I can help you with?” 

Garcia gestured vaguely over her shoulder in the direction of the briefing room. “There’s no meeting is there.” It was more of a statement than a question, resigned now to the fact that JJ had lured her out of her office, but for what purpose? She wondered. 

“You would have been notified if we were having a meeting,” Hotchner said in his usual calm, matter of fact, _you-have-totally-lost-your-mind_ voice.

“I know. I’m so sorry Sir. My bad. Just ignore me. I’m just gonna slither back to my office.” Garcia turned around and headed back to her office, she felt slightly out of sorts. 

She was so gonna kill JJ when next she saw her. 

But she'd seen what JJ had been up to upon her return to her office, and murderous thoughts were far from her mind. She’d found Kevin Lynch’s visage aglow from the computer monitor at her desk, adorned in a happy-smug expression. There was some delicious smelling food on a place amongst a real table setting on an elegant place-mat. Garcia’s heart had soared with happiness and right then and there she’d made up her mind to do something nice for JJ later. 

That had been an hour ago. Now she was busy trying to sort out Morgan’s rants. From what she garnered in the aftermath of the storm, her other dear friend, Dr. Spencer Reid was right in the center of something vaguely sordid and just a tad creepy.

Morgan had ceased his pacing and sat down on Garcia’s vacant chair with his usual athletic grace. He looked around and for the first time, appeared to notice the remains of Garcia’s elegant repast. He raised an eyebrow in a curious expression. “Can I get the number to your caterer?”

This Garcia translated as, ‘Wow, things must be getting serious with Kevin. Where the hell have I been?’ She smiled, and she couldn’t help the hint of wickedness that crept into her grin. “Well I would, but Kevin cooks for only one customer at a time and I’m afraid you have a tad too much testosterone to qualify as an eligible recipient.”

Despite Morgan’s apparent stress, he answered brightly before it quickly faded. “I’m happy for you, Baby-girl,” he said softly. Then he lowered his head into his hands and was silent. A moment passed and when his head came up, Garcia was looking into Morgan’s troubled eyes and handsome face. “I need someone to talk to. Someone I trust,” Morgan said cautiously.

“I can see that. And I’m your woman,” Garcia replied without hesitation. 

Morgan looked strained - conflicted as though needing share something, but not sure of having the right. Garcia knew the feeling, after all, in her job she saw and heard a lot of things no normal person should ever have to see or hear. Sometimes her own emotional health took a beating. The thing that kept Penelope Garcia reasonably sane was being able to have a safe person to confide in, and in a manner that allowed her to be professionally discrete and still relieve the pressure of things too emotionally heavy to bear alone. Unfortunately, the process of deciding what to say and when to say it could prove just as difficult. Her friend, Morgan appeared to be experiencing that difficulty now. 

“Do you remember the time when Emily, Reid and I were supposed to take the jet and fly down to Galveston to interview a witness?” the agent finally asked.

“Uh huh.” Garcia’s eyes widened. “Who could forget the case about the female Jack-the-Ripper-wannabe? What about it?” 

“I know that you are aware that Reid didn’t get on the plane, but you never knew the real reason why.” 

Garcia was totally puzzled. As cases went in the BAU, that particular one was closed and over a long time ago. She frowned. If this had to do with Reid, maybe it really wasn’t Morgan’s business to tell, she mused. Still, she trusted Morgan implicitly and if he needed to confide in her then she would keep _both_ men’s confidences. “No. I don’t know why,” she said carefully. “But it’s clear you do and that something is really bothering you. Does that have anything to do with some sick man you mentioned?” 

A dark expression crossed Morgan’s face. “It has everything to do with a sick, delusional man who thinks he and Reid are madly in love with each other.” Morgan stopped and composed himself before he continued, “Reid was in a very bad place mentally after Tobias Henckle kidnapped and tortured him. He deliberately missed that plane to Galveston because he went to visit an old friend of his in New Orleans instead.” 

Morgan’s edited retelling of the events that transpired did not include the fact that Reid had brought ill-gotten, illicit drugs with him to an otherwise clean and sober man named Ethan Stewart, thus unwittingly subjecting the recovering addict from New Orleans to a powerful temptation beyond his capacity to endure. 

Garcia observed the thin veneer of control Morgan had over the beast she named, _FearAngerJealousy_ manifesting itself through eyes that simmered with volatile emotions and hands that clenched the sides of the chair

“Reid, he…he…” Morgan struggled through the next part. “He and Ethan had sex.” 

Garcia couldn’t help the startled “oh” that escaped her open lips. She forced her mouth closed. That a grown man had become physically intimate with someone was hardly enough to make her bat an eye, but Reid? Reid was another story. She’d always thought of the beautiful young man as being a terminally, social- awkward intellect. As long as she’d known him, he had never spoken of former loves, much less appeared relaxed or pleased at the prospect of being fixed up for dates and such. For all the young man’s brilliance, he was as shy and inexperienced as a sacrificial virgin. _Was_ apparently being the operative word. 

No wonder Morgan was sporting that odd expression. He must have had the same assumptions about Reid’s level of sexual experience as she did. To find out that the younger man essentially ditched his responsibilities to go off and have sex with someone he hadn’t seen in years had to have been a shock. Not so shocking was Morgan's reaction. Garcia intuitively knew that the normally rational Morgan would be the jealous type when it came to claiming his love. 

“He told you that?” Garcia managed to ask.

“Yeah, he did,” Morgan said. Then he shook his head in a clear gesture of frustration. Then as if to validate her conclusion, Morgan continued, “It’s not as though Reid’s not entitled to have a sex life, but God, if you could have seen the man he was with…the man he almost threw his career away for… He’s crazy…diseased, I don’t know what the hell is wrong with him, but he thinks that after all this time, he and Reid are in a relationship.”

“And are you sure he’s not?” Garcia asked gently. She could hardly believe those words came out of her mouth, but apparently she didn’t know Reid as well as she thought she did. 

“I’m sure,” Morgan said. 

And Garcia, as she looked into the determined, strong face of her friend, was certain too. 

Garcia felt a welcome calmness and a hint of a smile come through. “So…you think this Ethan-creepy-stalker will stay away from Reid now that you went all ape-shit on him?”

“If he knows what’s good for him, he will,” Morgan said darkly. 

Even so, Garcia could detect a note of uncertainty from Morgan that even she, one who was not an experienced profiler, understood. A stalker was not likely to be deterred from the object of his or her obsession just because they were confronted one time. That fact left both Morgan and Reid in a dilemma as to how to proceed next. 

Ethan hadn’t threatened or tried to harm Reid. There was nothing there yet that even made it worth the pursuit of a restraining order. And then there was the BAU chain of command. Garcia realized that both Reid and Morgan would be loath to drag Hotch or Gideon into a personal matter - especially one rooted in Reid’s colossal act of unprofessionalism. 

Garcia sighed. No wonder Morgan had needed to vent. There was nothing for him to do, but keep his eyes and ears open and hope that Ethan Stewart took to heart the agent’s warning to stay away. “For your sake, and for Reid’s, I hope Ethan got the message,” she said sincerely.

“Me and you both,” Morgan said grimly. He rose from the chair and jammed his hands into his pockets. “Uh…I’m sorry for barging in here like that -”

Penelope Garcia looked at Morgan with all the affection she felt for him in her heart as he made his way towards the door. She gave a lopsided grin, “Forgetta ‘bout it, Spartacus. That’s what friends are for, and don’t you forget it.”

Morgan stopped and turned. Light laughter eased the lines of tension on his face. “Spartacus?”

Garcia graced Morgan with a feigned lascivious grin. “You’re incredibly sexy when you go all gladiator like that. Imagine you in that skimpy costume…” 

Morgan turned back around and exited as Garcia enjoyed the view of Morgan’s departing backside. Once alone, she plopped into her seat and put her chin on her hand. _Can’t these two catch a break?_

*******

He hardly noticed the stale smell in the room, the mismatched furniture that had been ill-used, or the dubious cleanliness of the bedding. Ethan Stewart was too busy in a fight with the chaos in his mind and the tumult of his shredded emotions after he endured the torment of finally reaching Spencer Reid, only to find his access blocked by a menacing, black Neanderthal of a man. 

To be so near to Spencer without having spoken to him --touched him was torturous enough, but it was nothing compared to the serrated blade that was twisting in his heart caused by the something else that had confronted him. Time and illness had severely eroded Ethan’s grasp on reality, but when it came to discerning the nature of the good-looking black man’s relationship to Spencer Reid, they had done nothing to dull his intuition, racists cultural preconditions notwithstanding. He had no proof, but Ethan had grown uneasy with the nagging sense that there was an intolerable truth at play: Spencer Reid - _his_ Spencer and the black man, Derek were lovers. 

Ethan leaned heavily against the door of the dingy room at the Crystal Lake Motel, he wheezed and coughed sickened further by the possessive notion that Spencer would give to another that which belonged only to him. If not for the support of the door with the chipped and peeling paint, he would have fallen to the floor, oblivious to his low circumstances to which he’d been brought. 

_Whattodo? Whattodo? Whattodo?_ The words went round and round in his head like an out of control locomotive. Was it true? Was Spencer having an affair with that man? Were they being intimate, white skin on black, with lips and hands and tongues? The hidden racist in Ethan felt sick by the very thought. It couldn’t be. He had to be wrong! With shaken hands, Ethan clutched his head as he felt the adrenaline that had helped propel him back to the motel, drain from his body. 

Ethan staggered over to the bed that had seen better days and collapsed in a heap on his side. With despairing eyes, he stared at the stained wall while his mind churned with denial. _Spencer! You are mine! You are mine! MineMineMine!_ Ethan groaned aloud in misery. His nervous system was over-taxed, which caused his body to shake almost uncontrollably with need and stress. There was only one sure way to make it stop. The old beast within was awakened and soon it would demand to be fed. He was terrified to know that he had no cash by which to acquire drugs and put the beast to sleep again. 

How long he’d lain staring at that wall he did not know. Ethan blinked and when he opened his eyes it was to gaze upon the sight of a good-sized, dark-brown cockroach out for a leisurely walk-about on the wall. The insect halted in its tracks, its antennae waved about busily. The shiny body turned and it raised its head as if to gain a better vantage point from which to observe the intrusive human which shared its space. 

Ethan’s eyes went wide when, suddenly, time and reality hiccupped and the roach deigned to speak. _“Ethan, my man, what’s up, bro? You don’t look so hot. In fact, you look like shit.”_

Ethan reached out a shaking hand as if to brush the brash insect away, but the wall was too far from the bed and the roach remained stubbornly in place. “This isn’t happening. You aren’t real,” he mouthed, his mouth too dry to speak. 

_“Oh I’m real. We’ve talked before”, said the roach with a sly smile. “You need help, and this is your lucky day ‘cause I got answers.”_

Ethan snaked his tongue out to lick at chapped lips. “No you don’t,” he croaked, he failed to wonder why if talking roaches were not real; he was in fact, talking to one. 

The roach turned to and fro and resumed inching across the wall, before it stopped again. _“I know what you need.”_ The roach paused and suddenly its soft, friendly voice took on a more malevolent tone. _“You know what you need.”_

“Shut up! Ethan muttered tightly. Heroin, Meth, Dilaudid , what drug of choice scarcely mattered anymore. He despaired when he realized he was losing the battle of wills. All that mattered at the moment was the insidious need that required assuagement. The promised ability of the drugs to calm the beast that had been roused by his rising stress levels was too tempting. Just one hit was all he needed. Just one would stop the emotional merry-go-round that was spinning out of control at dizzying speeds and there would be peace and clarity of thought at the end of that needle. He would be able to find out the truth about Spencer Reid. 

The roach barked out a knowing laugh and it was an altogether ugly sound. _“Beautiful Spencer, perfect Spencer won’t want you this way. Look at you, skinny as hell, shaking like you’re having some kind of fit. You’ve got to get yourself together. Stop the b.s.. Go score some shit, the go get your man.”_

The hunger was rising up relentless in its effect, it twisted Ethan’s system inside and out with the want he knew would soon drive him over the edge and out the door. If he thought he had sunk as low as he could, Ethan surprised himself by sinking even lower when, prompted by his abject poverty, he inquired of the roach as to the means by which he could procure what he needed. 

The roach, ever so helpful, supplied the necessary answer. _“Think trade. You know, a simple transaction using a more…‘universal’ currency.”_

Despite his current state of misery, despite the relentless torment that was destroying his ability to reason, Ethan understood the roach’s meaning. His body, deteriorated and wasted as it was, still had value as a commodity in a sex-for-drugs deal. A tiny part of his mind reeled at the suggestion. The rest of him rationalized the utility of the plan with the old axiom, ‘desperate times call for desperate measures’. A hand job in a car, a blowjob in a dark alley… yeah it’d be dirty, but it’d be quick too. _Just do it,_ Ethan’s inner voice urged. A glimmer of sanity fell on him then, before it winked out. For a moment, the shaking man was filled with a self-loathing, horrified by the idea that he could seriously contemplate getting intimate with a stranger in order to score some drugs. How could having sex with a stranger be better than Spencer Reid having sex with that man, Derek? They were both wrong, wrong, wrong. _Spencer belongs to me! I belong to him!_ Ethan’s moment of clarity had slipped away and all that remained was the demand to get up and seek what he needed. He was as a slave being driven by the master’s whip, and so Ethan staggered up and out of the room. 

The sound and vibration of the door as it slammed violently behind him did nothing to budge the stubborn roach from its position on the wall. 

 

*******

Even in the most Mayberryesque town, if one looked hard enough, one could find seedy, neglected areas where those who, by choice or unfortunate circumstances, lived a troubled, crime-ridden, dog-eat-dog existence. Drugs, sex, and ill-gotten gains were bought, sold and exchanged. Poverty was the norm and violence no stranger. The segment of the population that lived there, though technically part of the fabric of the community, was considered such- but only in so much as one considered a moth-eaten, threadbare edge of an expensive, beloved cashmere sweater, part of the garment. The wearer of such a garment tucked the unsightly portion into their pants where it would remain, part of the sweater, but out of sight. 

Stafford County wasn’t the District with its known areas of crack houses and prostitution circles, but it did have crime-ridden, drug-infested places where people that lived on the economic and societal fringes stayed. Ethan Stewart was in search of such an area where he could make a trade of sex for drugs. Desperate, out of his mind, and guided almost by some sort of animalistic instinct, Ethan found exactly what he was looking for in a rundown rental shack of a home that had once been a cabin unit of a respectable motor lodge back in the sixties. It was there that the last remnants of the once sophisticated, talented Ethan Stewart came to an end as he debased himself to achieve his objective.

Ethan knew how bad it looked, he on his knees on a filthy carpet in front of a thin, pocked-face dealer whose grime-stained pants lay in a heap around his sneakered covered feet. His mouth was stuffed full of the smelly meat of a perfect stranger’s cock- sucking, licking, and rubbing the young man’s heavy balls to get him to the moment of orgasm just so he could leave with the promised bag of heroin in exchange. He knew it, but he didn’t care. 

Spencer Reid would never know the lengths he had gone to be with him. His beautiful Spencer could never understand _this._ The part of Ethan Stewart that once would have felt the wrongness and shame of his actions had grown permanently silent. All that really mattered was the insistent demands of the Beast and his ability to assuage them. Tormented and driven, Ethan separated himself from the ugliness of the deed until the dissociation reduced him to the role of mere observer in his mind’s eye, as he watched the transaction dispassionately. 

It seemed to take forever to bring the young man off because Ethan’s mouth was so dry. His state of dehydration made it difficult to work up enough saliva to keep the action going. He was beginning to wonder if he wouldn’t pass out from the lack of oxygen or the man’s movements as they grew harsher with increased speed and roughness.

The dealer was moaning, he squeezed Stewart’s ears in a painfully hard grip as he rammed himself down Ethan’s throat. “Gonna blow now,” the young man finally grunted out right before he stilled his movements, then flooded Ethan’s mouth with a torrent of bitter-tasting cum. 

The young man did not release him, but kept his deflating organ in Ethan’s mouth, a blissful expression on his slack features, he totally ignored Ethan’s sputtering, choking attempts to pull away. Finally, Ethan pulled away, gasped and shook, the man’s sperm dripped from his mouth as he closed his eyes and waited for the sickening, dizzying feeling to leave. The sound of harsh pants were loud in Ethan’s ears until they were replaced with other noises. A belt buckle scraped on the floor as jeans were pulled up, the metallic sound of a zipper come together followed. 

“That was good man. Do you take it up the ass too?” 

Ethan knew without looking that the man was smirking at him. It was an ugly, self-satisfied sound. Stewart opened his eyes and stared intently at the jean pocket which held the drugs. “Shut the fuck up and just give me what I came for,” he said, his voice hard and edgy. 

“Sure. Sure, chillax. That was just really good. You’re really talented for a dude who looks as desperate as you do.” The dealer was giving him a shrewd, calculating look. “I think I wanna fuck you.”

_What?_ Ethan looked at the young man dazed and confused while the Beast within roared its impatience. Ethan stifled the desperate groan that wanted to escape his lips. This was not happening. His need and want were growing fierce now and his ability to contain it was fast shredding. 

“I’ll make it worth your while. I’ll give you something extra special, but you gotta let me fuck you in the ass, otherwise the deal’s off.” 

Ethan stood up then and lurched towards the drug dealer. He wasn’t going to play this man’s game and he sure as hell wasn’t going to let him fuck him. The drugs were his and he’d take them by force, if necessary. 

The dealer grinned, showing broken, yellow teeth. The man kept side-stepping Ethan’s lunge until his back was against the wall. Unaware of his peril, the dealer smirked and taunted Ethan. “I don’t think you’re hearing me. I’m not finished with you yet. You don’t let me pound that sweet ass of yours and you’re leaving here without the goods. Got it?”

Who the hell did this man think he was? What he needed was just a stone’s throw away and this dealer thought he'd change the deal? Eyes wild, face contorted, Ethan lunged forward, screaming, “Give me my shit!” 

Ethan’s memory of what happened next never did gain full clarity. He was barely conscious of a dark and furious force overtaking him. Perhaps his scream of rage had been the catalyst, or had it been the dealer’s dirty smirk? He would never know for at that point, a red haze of rage had descended over his twisted mind, which obliterated everything but the need to destroy the barrier that stood between him and the promised heroin. 

The dealer never saw his end coming, so swift was Ethan’s attack. In a second the crazed man was on the dealer and with a strength like a berserker, Ethan began slamming the hapless dealer’s head against the wall over and over until the body, skull caved-in, boneless and bloody, slid down the wall to lie twitching and broken on the floor. 

Profoundly depleted of strength, the unconscious body of Ethan Stewart slid to the floor to lie a foot away from the dead man’s pooled blood. 

*******

Prentiss powered down her computer and with efficient movements, straightened up her desk, grabbed her purse out of the bottom drawer and stood up. “Hey,” she called over to her team mate, Morgan. “It’s four-thirty. It’s quiet. What do you say about getting out of here a bit early today?” the dark-haired woman asked. 

Morgan had just returned from his annual weapons requalification testing. Truth be told, it had been a quiet transition back to work, with a minimal amount of the awkwardness he’d feared. Except for Spencer Reid’s absence in the bullpen, everything had felt normal and he was exceedingly grateful for that. Right now though, his back was starting to feel sore beyond what he could ignore and he was of one mind with Prentiss. 

“Sounds good." Morgan smiled, "let me know what Hotch says.”

“Me? Why me?” Prentiss feigned a wide-eyed protest.

Morgan chuckled. “It was your idea.”

“Yeah, but you know Hotchner likes you better.” Prentiss let the statement hang in the air for a moment and right before Morgan opened his mouth to refute it, she smirked and added, “Gotcha, I already did, and he said ‘yes’.” 

Morgan shook his head and grinned. “Okay, now you’re talking.” Knocking off right now so he could relax in more comfortable clothing sounded like a great idea. Aside from that, he most definitely had places to go and people to see. Morgan smiled internally. He had one specific person to see and when he did, he was gonna hold him, kiss him and let him know just how glad he was to see him. Morgan quickly followed Emily’s lead and secured his work space. 

The two agents made their way towards the elevator banks. The doors opened up and just as the two were about to embark, JJ rushed out, folder in hand. “Whoa guys, I’m glad I caught you before you left,” the blonde said. 

Morgan and Prentiss exchanged knowing looks. JJ looked focused, intense, organized as she always did whenever there was a pressing new case. “So much for an early release,” Prentiss said sarcastically. 

JJ eyed the obvious signs of her colleagues’ aborted departure. “Sorry guys.” Without another word, Prentiss and he followed JJ into the briefing room. Moments later, Gideon and Hotchner joined them. “Garcia’s on her way,” JJ informed her bosses as she began preparing the media for the brief.

The wait for Garcia was short. Within three minutes, the vivacious blonde bustled in, big earrings swung wildly as she settled herself into the nearest seat at the round table. 

“Let’s get started,” Hotchner said with a nod towards JJ. 

“Prince William County law enforcement contacted us 35 minutes ago requesting BAU assistance. There’s been another abduction of a female jogger…” JJ proceeded to give the details of the situation, and just like that,, the BAU was off and running on a new case. 

Morgan fought to refocus his attention upon the realization that there would be no telling when he’d be home, or when he’d see Reid. _Damn!_ Morgan sighed internally. He’d have to find a moment to call Reid and let him know he wouldn’t be over anytime soon. At least he had the satisfaction of knowing that Reid had not been bothered by Ethan. The younger man would have called him had he heard from his stalker. Morgan resolutely turned his attention back to JJ’s briefing and the evidence of the handiwork from the latest sick, criminal mind. 

*******

_7:30 pm_

The light in the room where Ethan slowly regained consciousness was gradually fading, but there remained enough so that the sight of the bloody corpse and walls stained with blood and grey matter presented an up close and personal, grim, graphic tableau. A powerful stench permeated throughout the air, which heralded a strong bout of nausea. Horrified to find himself in such a scene, Ethan rolled over on his side and began to dry heave, his body shook violently. What had he done? How did he get here? 

Ethan forced himself to look at the corpse and as if on cue, his body unleashed a brutal reminder of what it wanted. There were drugs in the jean pockets, drugs that belonged to him. “Oh my God! No, no, no…” Ethan’s long moan of denial echoed eerily in the decrepit building. The man was dead. There was blood on the wall, blood pooled underneath the body, blood and bits of brain matter on himself. The force of his body’s need slammed into him until on hands and knees, Ethan crawled closer to the body, he slipped on the filth. His ears were filled with the sound of an animal’s whimpering and when he realized the sound was coming from his own lips he switched to low, frantic muttering. 

He was a murderer. He’d killed a man in cold blood and there could be no other explanations. The how’s escaped him, but the why’s did not. The man wouldn’t give him what he was due. Those were his drugs and he needed them because he couldn’t function without them. If he couldn’t function then he and Spencer Reid would never be able to reunite. 

Ethan looked around in a panic. “S-spencer, help me, ” he said aloud, but his slick, sly mind asserted that this was all Spencer Reid’s fault. All of it. _Spencer is a brilliant FBI agent. Of course he would help him; Spencer owed it to him since they were destined to be together and the younger man was the cause of all of this_. 

He couldn’t stay here. The risk of discovery was unknown, but Ethan desperately wanted to get out of this place of death before the man’s friends came looking for him, or other customers arrived looking to score. The only thing that made sense to Ethan’s troubled mind was the idea that reaching Spencer meant reaching safety. To be with Spencer Reid would fix everything.

He would go then and return to the young man’s home. This would be the night they would be together and never parted. Hand atremble, Ethan liberated the drugs from the dead man’s pockets. He looked around and found the necessary paraphernalia and commenced to placate The Beast what it wanted until at last, the long awaited high took him to a place infused with a euphoric, false sense of peace and well-being. 

Despite the fact that Ethan was flying high, the urgency of his situation still pressed him from all sides. The fear and terror had left him, but what remained was the overwhelming desire to both get the hell away from the bloody crime scene before its discovery, and reach Spencer. A tinge of anger colored Ethan’s thoughts as he glanced once more at the bloody body. This wasn’t his fault. Why had the dealer tried to literally screw him over? Ethan snorted. What was done was done. This wasn’t how he had planned on approaching Reid, but Fate had stepped in and showed him that the time for action was now. This very night would see him reunited with the man who was his entire world. _You’ve waited for me long enough…_

 

******  
 _9:45 PM_

The doorbell chimed, which startled Reid out of the book in which he was engrossed. The young agent’s heart rate spiked for a moment as Ethan Stewart automatically came to mind. Reid quickly relaxed though. The person at the door was most likely Morgan. A tired-sounding Morgan had called him some 40 minutes ago, and expressed relief to be done for the day and his plans to stop by before he headed home. Besides that, Spencer didn’t fear Ethan. Not really. What he felt was concern for a man who he had known a long time - a friend to whom he may have brought harm, no matter how unintentionally. 

Whatever Ethan’s problem was, from Derek’s description of the man’s physical and mental state, it had to be bad. Spencer’s ignorance of precisely what was wrong with his old friend had done nothing to lessen the certainty that Ethan’s exposure to his stash of Diluadid during Spencer’s impromptu visit had had something to do with it. 

Gently, Spencer lay the thick tome aside and checked the time on his cellphone while he simultaneously rose to answer the door. It was nearly 10:00pm already, and aside from his angst-filled moments of reflection about Ethan, he’d spent a restful, leisurely day in recovery mode, with no signs of his old friend, Ethan. He’d eaten some food, slept some, read, and even did a little surfing on the internet until his body had rebelled with a headache from the eye-strain, and forced him back to bed again to sleep it off. The pain in his hand had become manageable without any further doses of painkiller and he had become rather adept at managing things one-handed. Overall, he was feeling much better and had already begun thinking about how soon could he return to work. 

Spencer smiled inside at the thought of Derek being the one at the door as he approached it. Nonetheless, he wasn’t about to throw caution to the wind and fling open the door when he had promised Derek that he would take precautions. “Who is it?” he asked through the closed door. Instinctively, the young man eyed his service weapon and holster which was on top of the credenza, tucked away amongst the elegant world globes and stacks of books he kept on top. 

“It’s Derek,” Spencer heard through the door. Reid’s heart stirred with joy, astonished at the reaction to the simple sound of those two words. Quickly Spencer undid the deadbolt and opened the door - and caught his breath.

Derek Morgan stood in the open doorway, the worried, tense expression he so often wore of late instantly transformed into a myriad of other expressions that were so beautiful to Spencer that when observed, diminished Spencer’s ability to move and form coherent speech. Derek was gazing at him and Spencer could read such a mix of relief, love, and an undeniable smoldering desire in Derek’s warm, dark eyes that the emotions being transmitted caused the young man’s body to flush warm in response, and his mind reeled with thoughts of kissing and undressing Derek. For a moment, neither man said anything as each savored the sight of the other, but before the silence could turn awkward, Derek smiled and asked, “May I come in?”

Spencer came back to himself with a sheepish grin. “Of course.” He stepped aside to allow Morgan to come in. “Sorry, I uhm…got distracted.”

The enchanted moment suddenly dimmed when Derek’s smile waned slightly. An air of tension threatened to creep in and ruin the spell. “How are you? Any contact from Ethan?” Derek asked, his eyes never moved from Reid’s face. 

Reid did not shy away from weight of Morgan's suppressed anxiety. He shook his head. “Nothing - and I’ve been fine all day,” he hastened to assure. Oh how Reid hated the return of the tense, worried expression to the other man’s dark, beautiful visage; it felt like the leaching away of the sun’s warmth by sudden cloud coverage. 

Reid moved closer to Morgan and the other man placed his hands on Reid’s shoulders. Then Reid felt his body being drawn into an embrace where the arms around him felt perfectly gentle, perfectly strong. Reid reveled in the feel of those arms and he returned the embrace with a passionate one of his own. Morgan’s body was strong, solid with the well-developed athlete’s muscles. To Reid’s fascination, he could feel certain parts of Morgan’s anatomy begin to stir. Reid felt his body’s own answer in the form of his hardening organ and he closed his eyes and sighed deeply. 

Despite the intoxicating heat between their bodies from the passionate embrace, he remained mindful of his injured hand, thus Reid’s hold on Morgan’s body definitely favored the uninjured hand. 

After a time, Morgan attempted to gently withdraw from the physical contact, but Reid resisted. “Don’t”, he whispered. “I love this - the way you feel. Solid. Real. I love your scent.” 

Morgan feigned a sniff then his lips quirked into a smile once again. “Are you saying I smell?”

Reid let his smile show through his eyes. “You know what I saying,” he murmured. Reid allowed the fingers of his good hand to trace a slow, gentle caress down Morgan’s face. 

Morgan’s eyes trailed up and down the length of Reid’s body. “So, how are you feeling, Doctor Reid?”

“I told you, I’m fine.” 

“Hmm…” Morgan said with a thoughtful sound. The older agent kissed Reid’s forehead in a gentle, languid movement. Morgan lips curved upward and his dark eyes held affection. “Well your head looks fine to me,” he pronounced after having looked Reid up and down with practiced care. Next, Morgan bestowed a light kiss on Reid’s mouth and Reid, greedy for more of the taste and feel of Morgan’s mouth, eagerly kissed him back with lips and tongue. 

Morgan abruptly drew back and performed another visual assessment of Reid. Morgan’s tongue darted out to lick his lips in a wicked motion. “I do believe your lips are doing way beyond fine, Baby Boy,” he teased. Morgan then trailed his hands gently down Reid’s shoulders until one hand stopped right at the wrist, above Reid’s broken hand. Morgan gently held it out before kissing it. “And this?” he asked in a low voice - “Is this fine too, or have you been in pain all day and too stubborn to take a pain killer?” 

If it had been anyone else to express such concern, Reid would have already felt some stirrings of annoyance. He wasn’t used to being fussed over or having his ability to take care of himself seemingly questioned. But this was Morgan, and Morgan loved him. This was what love felt like, and Reid found, much to his satisfaction that he preferred it over anything else. In fact, Reid’s body was doing an excellent job of telling him what it preferred. He ached to feel Morgan’s hands on his unclothed skin and for him to freely explore the other man’s magnificent physique. His desire was fast becoming all-consuming until his singular thought was a focused determination that tonight would be the night when they would finally become more than lovers in word. There was no reason to wait any longer. They’d waited too long already. 

In that moment that wavered between truth and prevarication, Reid chose something in between. “It hurt some, but not enough to need the painkillers. Like I said, I’m fine. ” Reid held up his casted hand and gave a self-deprecating smile. “In three weeks I’ll get the pins removed, followed by a little torturous physical therapy and it will be as good as new.”

Morgan thought silently for a moment, as he gently caressed Reid’s slender shoulders. After a time, the older man smiled, slow and sensually. “Okay,” he murmured. “Okay.” 

No more words were exchanged between them. None were necessary. Reid grasped Morgan by the hand, turned and slowly led the other man into his bedroom. Once inside, Reid reached for the light switch and adjusted the amount of illumination to a balance of light and dark. Moonlight streamed in through the window that faced and added its own magical accent to the bedroom. 

The pair walked over to Reid’s old-fashioned four-poster bed. Morgan sat down, his broad back propped against the pillows after he first removed his shoes. Reid toed off his own as well and then Morgan scooted over to make room for Reid, he stretched out his hands in invitation. Reid grasped both of Morgan’s with his one good hand and allowed himself to be gently pulled down to the bed until his body, so slender next to Morgan's powerfully-built one was comfortably situated. Morgan draped his arm over Reid and pulled the younger man over until he was lying against Morgan’s chest. 

Their bodies were so close now, their faces mere inches from each other. Reid’s eyes feasted on the sight of Morgan’s perfect profile. To Reid, it was as though Morgan’s skin was a smooth, rich-coffee colored canvas, perfectly displayed over a frame of well-defined, strong bones. Reid’s fingers stroked over Morgan’s smooth, exposed scalp and lightly bearded face which wrung a sigh of pleasure from Morgan. Morgan’s lips were so lush and kissable, and his eyes so deep and sparkled vivaciously with life. Reid reveled in the knowledge that a man like Morgan was freely offering all of this masculine beauty to be Reid’s playground. Reid was powerless to resist the call to come out and play. 

And so he did.

Their mouths met, at first they touched softly, gradually opened up to hungry, more passionate kiss as the heat between them ignited. Reid’s tongue dueled and danced with Morgan’s and the taste, to him, was sweet and hot at the same time. 

With a groan, Morgan broke away first. “God, you are so good to kiss. I’ve never…” Morgan tried to put his thoughts together. “Nothing’s gotten me so aroused that fast before.”

Reid smiled as Morgan commenced gently suckling upon Reid’s neck. Reid gasped with pleasure. “That’s because your lips are about 100 times more sensitive than your fingertips.” And because he was Spencer Reid, no matter what he was doing, he added an additional informative fact, “Did you know that not even genitals have as much sensitivity as lips?” Reid managed to ask between gasps. 

Amused, Morgan said, “Not everything’s a science, Kid,” and resumed his suckling, this time he wrung a moan of pleasure from Reid. 

“A… a… actually there is a science of kissing and it’s called philematology,” Reid gasped. 

Morgan chuckled and shook his head. “Okay, you win. Let’s get back to doing our own scientific experiments in kissing.” 

Morgan’s fingers had started to caress Reid’s face, trail down his neck until they slipped through the top of Reid’s jersey. The shirt, loose as it was on Reid’s lean frame, had a tight collar that somewhat hindered further progress. Reid groaned and automatically moved his body, to try to facilitate access for Morgan’s arm. He wanted more contact, needed Morgan’s hands on his bare flesh just as his own hand was seeking to fulfill his own need to explore Morgan’s hard body from beneath. 

As if attuned to Reid’s frustration, Morgan drew his hand back from its quest down Reid’s shirt. “You have too many clothes on,” he breathed. 

“So do you,” Reid promptly replied.

Morgan turned a serious expression on Reid. Things escaladed to the next level, it was the natural consequence of the clothes coming off. “Reid,” he said softly. “Are you sure? Are you sure you want this...from me?” he added, as if he needed to be very clear with Reid about what he meant and with whom. 

“I know my own mind, Derek. I’ve wanted you for a very long time. I just never thought it would ever happen.” 

“But, Spencer… there are some things we need,” Morgan suggested delicately.

Reid fought back the urge to feel embarrassed. “I have condoms,” he announced and promptly flushed a delightful shade of red around his ears. 

If Morgan thought it odd that a man as consistently dateless as Spencer Reid was, possessed condoms, he made no verbal comment, though his raised eyebrow said more than enough. 

“Do you have lube too?” Morgan asked, which to Reid’s ears sounded as though Morgan expected the answer to be ‘no’.

“Yes, I have that too.” Reid blushed further, under that utterly surprised, delighted expression that followed on Morgan’s face. 

Wordlessly, Morgan extricated himself from beneath Reid’s body and stood up. Reid watched; his gaze transfixed while Morgan began to disrobe, at first slowly and with deliberate movement as he removed his suit jacket which he carelessly tossed aside. Nimble fingers unbuttoned his dress shirt, pulled the garment off suddenly to reveal the magnificent flesh of Morgan’s broad, smooth chest.

Reid scarcely had time to drink in the sight when Morgan unbuckled and unzipped his pants. In one fell swoop, Morgan moved again and stripped out of his pants and underwear. Next he removed his socks and straightened to stand with his arms at his sides. The older man now stood gloriously naked, calm and unashamed. And no wonder Morgan was unashamed, Reid thought. Morgan had the body of an adonis, perfectly muscled, perfectly fit.

Reid’s eyes went wide and he sucked in his breath. He, of course, always knew that Derek Morgan was a fit man. The way the man’s clothes flattered his physique, as if made solely for him and for just that purpose, was a thing impossible to miss. But this…this was beyond Reid’s own imagination. There was not an ounce of flab anywhere on the perfectly-muscled, brown body. Reid’s eyes swept down Morgan’s torso, they followed the path that seemed to go from the middle of his chest, down to his flat, ripped abdomen. Reid’s gaze noted Morgan’s indented belly button and continued downwards until it came to a thatch of black, tight curls and to the proud, erect cock that strained upwards from its nest. Reid found all parts of Morgan to be beautiful from his sculpted chest with its dark nipples, the peaks of which reminded him fondly of Hershey Kisses candy, to Morgan’s trim waist, his strong, muscular thighs that led to long legs and shapely calves and ended at well-cared for feet. 

Reid would have liked to enjoy a view of what he was certain would be firm, rounded buttocks, but Morgan did not turn around. Reid guessed why. Even the duskiness of Morgan’s skin color could not hide the heavy bruises and the patchwork of healing skin all over Morgan’s back. He suspected Morgan would seek to spare him the visible reminder of just what he had suffered in his desperate bid to save Reid’s life. Reid was determined not the let his mind go down that dark trail. The sight of Derek as he stood before him, nude, so awed him that Reid’s formidable powers of speech temporarily deserted him. 

Suddenly, Reid became keenly aware of his own body’s perceived inadequacies. In Reid’s vast catalogue of sexual inexperience, Ethan had, at least, found him beautiful - everything about Ethan’s reactions to the sight of him had confirmed that. But Ethan was not Morgan and while Reid had found Ethan to be attractive, Ethan’s body had not been the temple of perfection that Morgan’s was and thus, the thought had never occurred to Reid that Ethan expected perfection from him. Reid ruthlessly tamped down his insecurity. Morgan wanted him the way he was; the straining erection with the glistening pearl-drop at the tip was proof enough. “You are so beautiful, Derek,” Reid breathed once the power of speech returned. He was feeling overwhelmed and he stumbled over his next words awkwardly, “Can I…will you let me touch you?” In the midst of his own excitement and anticipation, Reid’s normally razor-sharp mind did not even register the slight hesitation in his lover’s answer.

“Baby I want that more than anything else I’ve ever wanted,” Morgan affirmed, eyes closed, as if to deny Reid a chance to look into them. 

Then Morgan opened his eyes and he stepped within Reid’s reach. Reid sat up on the edge of the bed, knees apart so that he could draw Morgan in between. Reid eagerly reached out and ran long fingers up and down Morgan’s straining shaft. He teased the organ with feather-soft strokes. Morgan closed his eyes again and his body trembled while Reid enjoyed the feel of that velvety-soft skin and the places where veins bulged with rich, hot blood. 

Reid firmly encircled his lover’s hard cock in his hand and pumped it. The gasp wrung from Morgan caused a corresponding surge of lust in Reid’s body. The young man felt heady with the power of knowing that it was _his_ hand that could bring such pleasure to the other man’s body. 

Suddenly Morgan’s eyes flew open and abruptly he snagged Reid’s hand with his own. “Stop!” he ground out in a low, urgent voice.

Instantly Reid stilled, confused and concerned. Morgan was looking at Reid with an expression Reid could not quite categorize. Puzzled, Reid withdrew. There was the vaguest sense that something had changed and Reid caught the fleeting tail end of a red flag in the air. Reid’s insecurities asserted themselves which left him to wonder if he had inadvertently caused Morgan pain. Had he been too rough? “I’m sorry,” he apologized. 

Morgan fidgeted silently for a moment. “Don’t apologize for nearly making me come,” Morgan said at last, evenly, though his eyes appeared to be looking at a point just above Reid’s shoulder. Morgan did not wait for a response but indicated with his hands that Reid should lie down and move over in the bed. Reid hesitated for a moment. 

Reid’s finely-honed profiler instincts had not detected deception, but still, something in Morgan’s explanation had sounded ‘off’ but he didn’t know what. Was Morgan secretly conflicted about making love to him? Did Morgan still think of him as an awkward youth who shouldn’t want or need to experience sex? The idea was ridiculous - Morgan had already stated in so many words his desire to be intimate with him, and the erection Reid had felt on Morgan certainly did nothing to contradict. Reid banished the thought to the far recesses of his mind. 

Wordlessly, Reid reclined on the bed, he patted the space next to him so that Morgan could once again lie naked next to him. Morgan returned to the bed and took Reid into his arms. Once more Reid felt the strength of those arms around him and the sensuous feel of Morgan’s embrace simultaneously dispelled the momentary hint of disquiet Reid had felt.

“I want to undress you,” Morgan said simply - and Reid allowed him. Spencer sat up in the bed and positioned his body so that Morgan could more easily divest him of his loose, comfortable jersey. The older man grabbed the edge of the shirt and began to bunch it up to pull over Reid’s head, he took special care of the young man’s broken hand as he drew the sleeves down. The pants were next and for that, Reid simply raised his slender hips so that Morgan rid him of them in one, swift movement. 

Now Reid was lying next to Morgan, equally naked, the evidence of his arousal jutted upward. Reid wanted so very much to take his shaft in his hand, to stroke himself as his body wanted, but he refrained. It was difficult, but Spencer laid still and indulged Morgan’s intense visual examination of his prize. Reid felt the heat of that gaze while Morgan’s eyes swept over him from head to toe. 

Morgan’s breath, hot and quick brushed over Reid’s skin and then Morgan’s hand moved over Spencer’s face, cupped it tenderly. “You are so incredibly beautiful; do you know that, Baby Boy?” Morgan asked.

Spencer didn’t have to think about that in order to give an honest answer. No, he didn’t know that, but he believed Morgan. He believed _in_ Morgan. He’d had a lifetime of feeling anything but beautiful due to the constant verbal and sometimes physical abuse he’d endured at the hands of older, jealous classmates, the perceived rejection by his own father, and his own acute awareness of the inadequacies of his body image. But for Reid, none of that mattered now. The reality of the truth Morgan was speaking permeated the warmth of the man’s eyes, and it was in the wondrous expression he wore on his face. 

Reid refused to reject Morgan’s declaration though the ghosts of old experiences were always there and ready to remind him of what others had said and done to him. He wouldn’t allow himself to riddle Morgan’s observation of him with doubts. “I believe I am beautiful to you,” he affirmed quietly. 

And he was sure about that, just as surely as the heat of his desire was fast overtaking his ability to think. Reid’s body yearned to be stroked, and to stroke Morgan’s hot flesh in return. He got his wish when, moments later, he felt Morgan’s hand enclose around his stiffened penis and give it a strong stroke from root to sensitive tip. Reid moaned aloud with the sheer pleasure of it such exquisite sensations. Body on fire, Spencer closed his eyes when he felt Morgan’s lips on his. They lay there as they exchanged deep, hot, kisses with lips and tongues left to taste and explore the sweetness of each other’s mouths. All the while, Reid let his own hands explore as much of Morgan’s heavier, well-muscled body as he could reach, he started at the top.

Reid ran both hands down the back of Morgan’s head, and marveled at the smooth, peach-like texture of his scalp. His hands travelled further down, over the firm chest until Spencer brushed his fingers over Morgan’s sensitive nipples, he smiled in delight when Morgan moaned in pleasure.

“Does that feel good?” Spencer asked, fascinated, and did it again. 

Morgan arched into Reid’s touch. “Yes,” he moaned. 

It was Morgan’s time to turn the tables. The older man began to leave a trail of kisses on Reid’s body that led from the rosebud nipples, down his long torso until Morgan arrived at the thatch of brown hair and the long, hard organ nestled there. Morgan lingered, but did not stop to stroke and rub Reid’s erection. Rather, Reid felt strong but gentle hands cup his balls, fondle them, stroke along the inside of his thighs. 

Reid raised his head and watched avidly as that mouth, that hot, beautiful mouth of Morgan’s licked and teased Reid’s aching balls. Reid whimpered and squirmed helplessly under the stimulating onslaught.   
“Shh….relax, my love,” Morgan soothed. A hot tongue darted out teasingly. “Would you like me to taste you now?” 

Wordlessly, Reid nodded his head as he guided Morgan’s head down to the tip of his cock. Moments later Reid closed his eyes in total ecstasy when he felt the moist, wet heat of Morgan’s mouth on him as the other man’s lips enclosed his turgid length. Reid became lost in the sensation of Morgan’s lips and throat worked on him, sucked, rubbed, and licked him. He was being brought closer and closer to an explosive climax from Morgan’s relentless attentions. His hips were bucking up, he thrust his cock even farther down Morgan’s talented mouth until he was almost beyond his ability to stop himself from tipping over the edge. 

And as much as Reid’s body greatly desired that, his soul cried out for an even deeper longing to reach that pinnacle of pleasure at the same time his lover did. He wanted their bodies to be joined together in the most intimate of unions so that his orgasm would come from being pounded hard and deep by Morgan’s own pulsating organ. 

“Morgan!” Reid gasped.

“Mhhmmm,” Morgan mumbled around a mouth full of Reid’s flesh. 

Reid was squirming, he tried to keep himself from the orgasm his body was so close to. “Morgan, I want to feel you inside me…please.” 

Something about the urgency of that plea must have caught Morgan’s attention because he stopped his ministrations and released Reid’s organ from the embrace of his wet, sensuous lips. Reid found himself looking into Morgan’s beautiful face. The other man’s eyes were wide with anticipation, and Morgan’s body was shaking with inflamed passion. The feel of Morgan’s shaking body between Reid’s legs was sending shock waves through Reid’s body too. 

“I want that more than anything too, and I’m going to give you what you want, Sweet-Boy,” Morgan panted. Morgan rose to his knees, his perfect body poised between Reid’s legs as he rolled the condom into place. 

The magnificent sight of Morgan’s muscled body between his legs took Reid’s breath away and he had to quickly grab the base of his penis and squeezed it hard to keep from coming. No way would he allow a premature ejaculation to end the moment just because everything about Morgan set his senses on overload. Besides, the moment he'd thought about for so long was at hand. There would be no more talking about it, no more wishing, no more speculating. This was the time when Spencer Reid would know what it was like to love and be loved by Derek Morgan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must say, if anyone had told me that any story of mine posted on AO3 would garner over a thousand hits, much less close to 2000, I would have said, "I don't think so."
> 
> Thank you for continuing to read along. 
> 
> Comments always welcome.
> 
> http://romanseartfanfic.com


	25. Chapter 25

10:00 PM

The next time Ethan Stewart became aware of himself and of his surroundings he found himself parked in his car a few houses down from Spencer Reid’s home as he tottered up steps that led to Reid’s brownstone. Somehow, someway - he would never really be sure how, for he remembered very little during his sojourn - he had arrived at his destination. 

Once again, and for what he determined to be the last time, all that separated him from the object of his desire was a door. In Ethan’s mind, all he had to do was knock and Spencer would welcome him in, and they could be together forever. Ethan started to laugh with joy. He was flying high and the extreme elation he was feeling only served to amplify his instability. 

And then Ethan’s world came crashing down. 

He turned his head and his gaze fell upon Spencer’s driveway. His tortured, twisted mind could scarcely process what he was seeing. ‘No!’ His mind screamed. This was not possible! There was a car parked next to the one he knew belonged to Reid. It was one that he’d seen twice already and he darn well knew to whom the car belonged. It belonged to that black man named Derek - the one who he’d seen leave Spencer’s place earlier - the one who Ethan had automatically relegated to the role of close colleague to Spencer Reid. 

And now the man’s car was once again parked in Spencer’s driveway late at night, as though it belonged there. And what in the hell could those two be doing? His treacherous mind supplied him with the answer in the form of graphic images of Spencer, naked, mouth open as he was being nailed to the mattress by an equally naked Derek. 

At that moment Ethan’s soul froze and withered. Ethan’s mind had made the leap from a singular fact to a singularly painful, brutal conclusion while it also precluded any other possibilities in the process. As he stood there in Spencer’s subdivision as the moon shone down in the quietness of the night, Ethan clutched his head and forced his throat to cut off a desperate whimper that threatened to turn into a howl of rage. Ethan’s new-found truth sliced his heart open and for a moment, the ill man’s vision grayed out and his legs would no longer support him. Ethan slid to his knees and gasped in agony at the pain of his ‘betrayal’. In Ethan’s obsessed mind, Spencer had betrayed their love and whored himself out to the black man. 

He was alone, abandoned, betrayed. He was in pain, diseased, broken. He’d lost everything and it was entirely Spencer Reid’s fault.

In the midst of his agony, the last vestiges of Ethan’s more coherent thought processes forced him to consider what he had done his best to not think about: that Spencer’s visit had been the catalyst for his downfall, and the younger man had walked away without ever knowing that he had awakened the demons of drug addiction in him by the simple act of unexpectedly dropping into his life and bringing with Spencer, illegal drugs beyond Ethan’s ability to resist. As if that had not been enough, Spencer’s visit had also reawakened Ethan’s long, deeply-rooted desire to possess the younger man, body and mind. 

Ethan’s mouth set into a grim line. No, he did not believe that Spencer knew that Ethan’s drug addiction had roared to life because of him. Reid did not know that Ethan’s subsequent downward spiral had led him down the road to contract AIDS, or that he’d lost his job, his apartment and his livelihood. All of that pain and loss Ethan had been perfectly willing to count as a mere inconvenience when contrasted against the intoxicating memory of Spencer, naked and sensual in his arms. Spencer had come to him hurting , sad and lost, and Ethan had gloried in the knowledge of having taken that hurt being and made love to him, healing Spencer with his body and mind. 

Before this moment of abject despair, everything Ethan had lost had been nothing in comparison to what he believed he’d gained in the heart and body of Spencer Reid. The young man was his, and only his. Ethan had told himself that lie so many times that up until now, he had been incapable of even considering the total irrationality of his belief. But now his heart was being brutally wrenched from his chest because he was sure the man whom he loved was inside, as he betrayed him with another man. 

Suddenly, Spencer’s lack of knowledge no longer mattered to Ethan, and he was not only willing to lay the responsibility for what he’d suffered at Spencer Reid’s door, but was now _driven_ to hold the younger man accountable for it. 

The wall of black despair arose within Ethan warred with a sweeping wave of red rage. The two powerfully turbulent emotions collided in Ethan’s mind, swirled together like a tornado and left a path of grief and emotional destruction in their wake. 

_Spencer doesn’t know, but he’s damn well going to know before this is over. I’m gonna ram what he did right down that bastard’s selfish, pompous throat!_

Ethan Stewart, now fueled by rage, still bloody from the earlier murder, staggered down the quiet street and back to his car. He slid behind the wheel and started up his car, but did not immediately drive away. 

He sat there, his head bobbed up and down as if to the beat of music only he could hear. “Okay,” he finally muttered. “Okay. I may be going to Hell, but you and I are gonna go call on the devil together.” 

Ethan put the old Volkswagen beater into first gear and drove off without having ever come under the notice of any of Spencer Reid’s neighbors in the sleepy little subdivision. A pity. Had anyone chanced to see the expression that came over Stewart’s face, they would have agreed that it was an altogether evil thing.

*******

“Are you ready for me, Sweetheart?” Morgan breathed, his eyes looked intently at Reid as if they could see into his soul. Reid’s long legs were over Morgan’s shoulders, his ass lifted from the bed as a ready offering. 

Reid could only helplessly whimper his need in answer.

Morgan was poised at the moment of penetration, having taken his time in preparing Reid’s body in an act so slow, so thorough and careful that he had Reid shaking with desire, pleading for it until driven to desperation, Reid had called Morgan a sadist for inflicting such sweet torture upon him. 

“I love you so much,” Morgan said, and he touched the tip of his cock to Reid’s opening and slowly began his descent into paradise.

The cellphone, from its location on the nightstand, went off in a sudden shrill blast of ringtone. The intrusive ringing was a shocking jolt, the noise of which seemed to lance right through the lovers' senses, and freeze them in place with the jarring shock of it. Reid saw a look of frustration and annoyance on Morgan's face and had no doubt that he wore a similar one upon his own as the ringing cycled through as the phone gone unanswered, started ringing again. 

“I don’t believe it!” Spencer groaned. “I don’t even want to guesstimate what the odds are of this happening the moment we’re about to achieve penetration.”

“It can’t be the BAU calling; they know you’re on convalescent leave,” Morgan growled, getting up from the bed. 

“Maybe they’re trying to get a hold of you and something’s wrong with your phone so they called mine instead,” Reid said hurriedly as he scrambled to get to the phone. Ignoring it was so tempting, but Reid remembered all too well the poor decision he’d made the last time the BAU called his phone and he had refused to answer it. He promised Gideon no more unprofessional conduct and so he opened the phone. The screen lit up, and allowed Reid to see the number. What he saw made his mouth go dry and his straining erection wither. He’d only seen that number once: the night he’d said a final good-bye to Ethan at the Silhouette Club situated in the posh New Orleans hotel where Gideon had tracked him down. Before Reid had left the club in the company of his boss, Ethan had hastily given Reid his business card and Reid had reciprocated in kind.

In truth, though Reid had accepted Ethan's card, he had no intention of initiating any further contact with the man, for Reid strongly desired to put New Orleans behind him. Fleeing to the Big Easy had brought him to a critical decision-making moment that had determined the course of his continued association with the FBI. He had remained grateful to Ethan for the compassion he’d shown a hurting, old friend who had also been his rival. Unfortunately, the way Reid saw it, everything about that trip also represented the lowest point in his conduct as a professional. 

Reid didn’t hesitate when he and Gideon walked right by a trash can once they’d exited the hotel, and Ethan never knew that the business card he’d given Reid had never left New Orleans.

“It’s Ethan,” Reid mouthed over the ringing phone to Morgan, who had already put his pants back on, and was in the act of zipping up his fly.

Reid saw Morgan instantly tense. “What the hell?” Morgan muttered.

Reid held up his hand in a 'wait-a-minute' gesture, and heedless of his nudity, took a deep breath and answered the phone. “Ethan,” Spencer said calmly. 

“Spencer…how are you? No, don’t answer that - I know how you are, or at least how you were - so beautiful…so fucking unattainable, even to someone like me, smart enough to appreciate you, but always one step behind. Well, I’m not behind anymore. You are.” 

The barely coherent voice on the other end was hollow-sounding, sluggish, cloaked in a mantel of heavy despair that it was hardly recognizable as belonging to the Ethan Stewart Reid had known for years. Nonetheless, Reid had no doubt that it was Ethan and he was very concerned about the state of his friend. Ethan sounded terrible and foremost on Reid’s mind was how Morgan had described Ethan’s poor physical appearance.

“I don’t understand, Ethan,” Reid replied evenly as he switched his phone to speaker for Morgan’s benefit. “I heard you were in town and that you ran into a friend of mine. He said you didn’t look well. Will you tell me where you are so I can get you some help?”

Ethan’s answering laugh was sudden, bitter and, bordered on the edge of hysteria.

“You want to help me?” Ethan sounded incredulous.

“Of course I do, if I can. You helped me when I needed it.”

“And look how you repaid me,” Ethan’s voice seethed with rage.

Reid swallowed hard against guilt and the confirmation of his worst fears: that his thoughtless, criminal act of bringing stolen Dilaudid with him to New Orleans had led to his friend’s obvious breakdown. “Ethan, I’m so sorry I brought those drugs with me. I never thought about how they could hurt someone else. Please tell me where you are so I can help you.” 

There was silence and then a shiver ran down Reid’s spine when he heard Ethan’s chilled, bitter laugh that ended with a round of harsh coughing. “You think this is all about some shit that you brought with you? Spence…man, you always were the world’s dumbest genius,” Ethan said, his words slurred further.

Reid flinched and Morgan made a move as if he wanted to snatch the phone away, but Reid held up his injured hand to halt Morgan and he tightened his grip on the phone with the other. “Ethan, you’re ill,” Reid said calmly. “Whatever you think of me is irrelevant to the fact that you need some help. That’s why you contacted me, right? So let me help.”

“I never took you for an easy manwhore though,” Ethan continued as if Reid had not spoken. “Had I known, I never would have loved you. I never would have tried to make things right after what I’ve done to you if I knew that what you really wanted was Mandingo. How could you betray our love like that?” 

It took a second for Reid to get over his shock at hearing his friend’s words. Morgan had warned him that Ethan was delusional but this…this was something else. “And I never took you for a delusional racist. It seems like I never really knew you at all. I’m not in love with you, and there never was an us,” Reid said in a low, flat voice. “I’m hanging up now. Don’t call me again.”

“Wait!” Ethan screamed. 

The anguished cry made Reid think of some sort of desperately angry, wounded creature, the sound of which effectively had Reid swimming against an emotional tidal wave of devastation. Reid knew he should hang up, but he didn’t. He was responsible for this. Besides, it was not in his nature to turn his back on a stranger, let alone on an old friend in that much pain- no matter how much his instincts, not to mention his training, told him that the depth of Ethan Stewart’s delusion and behavior indicated that he was a stalker and that all contact should be cut off immediately. 

“Wait,” Ethan repeated, his emotions much more controlled, though he was panting harshly. “Don’t hang up. You owe me that after everything between us.” Reid heard painful-sounding coughing before Stewart continued in a voice that gained strength as even as his speech grew more rambling. “But I owe you too. Funny how that works. You gave me something and I gave you something in return. I used to be sorry about it. You don’t know how much I suffered for what I did, but not anymore. You deserve it and it’s going to be your turn to suffer too.” 

Reid froze. What was Stewart talking about? Did he even know what he was saying? Concerned, Reid’s mind quickly ran through an analysis of Ethan's words and deeds, but he came up short, hampered by insufficient facts. “Tell me where you are, Ethan.” Reid was proud of himself. His heart was hammering, but his voice remained outwardly calm. Out of the corner of his eye Reid saw Morgan pace back and forth, every line of the older man's body radiated unhappiness that Reid had not hung up on Stewart.

“I’ll tell you where I am, but don’t even think about calling in any cops because we both know that I haven’t broken any laws.”

“I don’t know that, Ethan,” Reid answered softly.

There was silence on the other end. Eventually, Stewart spoke, “I just want to talk to you, and then I swear, I’ll never bother you again. You remember how we used to talk when we were kids? It was me trying to look out for you when you were this young skinny kid hanging out with this chubby, older kid.” 

Stewart laughed then and Reid thought that for the first time in the whole conversation, Stewart sounded normal. “You remember what the kids used to call us when I finally got my first car and I starting giving you rides home from school?” Stewart asked quietly.

Reid swallowed at the flood of memories. “Batman and Robin,” he whispered. 

“Yeah, that’s right.” There was a pause. “You’ll come?”

“Yes, I’ll come.” This time when Reid answered, he deliberately didn’t look in Morgan’s direction though he heard a half-strangled sound come from his lover’s direction. 

“I’m at the Crystal Lake Motor Lodge on Route 1, room seven. Same bat time?” 

Reid could almost imagine the sardonic grin on Ethan’s face that Reid remembered from his boyhood. They’d used that phrase often used as a private joke between them once they’d learned what some of the other kids nicknamed them. Infinitely saddened for his friend, Spencer readily gave the ritual answer: “Same bat channel,” but his words went into dead air. 

Ethan Stewart had already ended the call. 

*******

“I don’t like this, Spencer. Stewart may not have broken any laws but we need to call Hotchner at least and let him know what’s going on. The guy’s unstable at best.” Morgan was driving, his face set into a tight expression. He was barely keeping his need to turn the car around and prevent Reid from going over in check.

“I know he is, Morgan, but he’s also my friend and I can’t help feeling that I owe him the chance to let me help him without the spectacle of handcuffs or a straightjacket,” Reid snapped. 

They’d been over this before when Reid stated his clear intention to meet Ethan Stewart and Morgan’s equal intention to stop him. In the end, Reid’s will had won out but Morgan wasn’t about to let Reid go over there alone. 

Morgan glared ahead as he steered the car up Route 1. “He’s a stalker. I don’t have to remind you of the profile of one.”

“He’s an intimacy-seeking stalker,” Reid recited quietly. “They believe they are loved or will be loved by the…v.. victim.” Reid stumbled over the word, reluctant to apply it to himself. “Often they focus on someone of higher social status. This person is mentally ill and delusional.”

“Do you hear yourself? What part of ‘mentally ill and delusional’ did that big brain of yours miss?” Morgan asked.

Reid’s expression grew cool and remote. “I know what it means,” he replied in a low voice, “just like I know that I’m the person who can best get Ethan the help he needs right now. Why can’t you have a little faith in me?”

Morgan took the next turn just a little too sharply. “Damn it, Spencer, this isn’t about me not having faith in you – it’s about me looking out for you when your mind is being over-run by your emotions because you think you owe this man a debt.”

Reid didn’t answer right away. He was looking intently ahead and on his left until suddenly he shouted out, “There it is… it’s up there, Crystal Lake Motel!”

Morgan pulled into the property of run down units. The place boasted a stagnant pond from which a foul stench emanated. There was a broken fountain in the pond that had not experienced flowing water in some number of years. The back side of the motel was woods and darkness. One outside light posted high on a corner pole flooded the limited area in front of the motel units with light. The only other outside light was positioned to illuminate the parking lot off to the side. A few of the units were occupied by permanent residents and some of those had a collection of old plastic children’s toys such as broken down Big Wheels and rusted Hot Wheels cars scattered about on the patches of dirt where grass once grew. There were lights shining through the curtained windows of some units and from those, the sounds of blaring TVs or radios could be heard from outside. The motel office was situated in an unattached structure on the side. Half of the vacancy sign was lit. 

Morgan steered his car into an empty space and cut the engine. Reid did not jump out of the car to race to Ethan’s door, but instead, simply looked at Morgan for a minute. Reid took Morgan’s hand. “I’m going in there to talk to Ethan. I’m going to take him to the hospital and find out what the hell’s wrong with him, and then I’m going to say good-bye. If he can’t accept that, then I’ll get a restraining order. If that doesn’t work, I’ll do what I have to to see that he stays away from us. Can you trust me with that?” 

A moment of silence hung between them in which Morgan appeared to be considering his lover’s words. “Yeah, I trust you. Always,” he finally affirmed. “But–” Morgan quickly added when Reid moved to exit the car – _“We_ are going in to talk to him together.” 

Reid’s smile was fleeting but sincere. “Are you kidding? If I told you to stay in the car, then _I’d_ be the one who’s delusional.”

Morgan just shook his head, but the small concession briefly penetrated the thick air of tension. The moment passed the minute Reid and Morgan proceeded to Ethan’s front door.

Reid knocked gently on the door and waited. When there was no answer, he knocked again and called out Ethan’s name. Still there was no answer and when Reid pressed closer to the door he could hear the faint sound of running water. The young man immediately began feeling a strange anxiety creep up on him. Every sense in him was telling him that something was very wrong. “I’m going to call him,” Reid announced worriedly. He took his phone out, flipped it open, and pushed the redial button and waited. The phone went through its ring cycle and when there was no answer, it triggered Ethan’s voice mail. Frustrated, Reid snapped the phone closed.

Reid,was growing inexplicably frantic with worry, and he grabbed Morgan by the arm. “Morgan, something’s wrong. I know it! We have to get in there right away. We need to break this door down!” 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Morgan said, desperation clear in his voice. “You have no proof of exigent circumstances. Stop and think, will you? Stay here, I’ll get the manager of this dump and he’ll let us in.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Go,” Reid said, knowing Morgan was exactly right. This wasn’t like him. This intense feeling that he was standing on the edge of a pit and about to be shoved in was unlike any feeling he’d ever experienced. Not even being kidnapped by Tobias Henckle had produced such intense, deep and abiding dread. Reid paced anxiously. It felt to him as though Morgan had been gone a long time when in fact, when he next saw Morgan approach with a harried middle-aged man holding a set of keys, less than 3 minutes had passed. 

The man was muttering under his breath and Reid caught the fumes of stale alcohol and tobacco. The manager fiddled with the key ring with rough, gnarled fingers until at last he found the right key and inserted it in the lock. With a twist and a turn, the latch was unlocked and the door opened. “There you Feds are. Don’t know what you want with that man, but I don’t want no trouble.” 

The manager’s words fell on deaf ears. Reid rushed into the darkened room, his hand fumbled for a light switch on the wall. Morgan quickly followed, but not before he first ordered the manager to remain outside. 

Once inside, the sound of running water was louder and it was clear from the acoustics that water was splashing into a tub full of water and had overflown to the floor. The bathroom door was closed with only a slight crack to keep it from being shut all the way. A sliver of light showed through the crack, but that was all the view afforded. Reid ran to the door, shouting Ethan’s name. 

And froze in abject horror at the tableau in front of him. 

_Nononono. Oh God, no!_ Reid’s mind screamed. He was temporarily paralyzed at the sight of his friend, his naked, emaciated friend draped half-in and half-out of the bathtub overflowing with blood red water due to the deep slashes Ethan had made in both skinny wrists. It sloshed over the sides and drenched the floor which was already covered in an inch of bloody water. This human scarecrow with the sore-covered body and scraggly strands of hair that had once been lush and brown was hardly recognizable as Ethan Stewart and yet it was.  
The heavily hooded eyes were glazed, but when they shifted ever so slightly in Reid’s direction, his moment of paralysis snapped and Reid sprang into action. Oblivious to Morgan’s presence behind him, Reid shouted loudly for the older agent to call 9-1-1. “Ethan, what have you done? Why?” Reid screamed his anger and fear. With a racing heart and shaking limbs, frantic, Reid seized the wet, corpse-like body under the armpits and hauled Ethan from the tub. He was dimly aware of Morgan’s voice talking followed by what sounded like an angry vocal exchange between Morgan and the manager. Reid’s mind blocked it out. There was nothing there in that room except Ethan’s wasted form which was bleeding out the last moments of life in Reid’s arms, even as he tried desperately to tie off the bleeding wrists with towels. 

“Don’t do this, Ethan. Just stay and I’ll get you some help just like I promised. C’mon. We’ll fix this, I swear it.” Reid’s tears were falling upon Ethan’s bloodless face. He knew the words he spoke were a lie. There would be no helping Ethan. He’d lost too much blood. He was obviously very ill. The choice had been made and now all he could do was sit there in the bloody, cold water, and hold his dying friend. 

*******

Ethan would have cried had he tears left but there were none. There was only Reid and an overwhelming sense of loss, sadness and regret. Some measure of sanity in these last moments had descended on him and he worked his mouth to speak words to the man to whom he had brought unknowing harm, just as Spencer Reid had unknowingly brought harm to him. His heart was no longer driven by anger and a need to hurt Spencer. He was dying and in a few months, Spencer may very well die as well when AIDS manifested itself and destroyed his life. 

Ethan’s heart was full of remorse for the letter which he had composed and left for Spencer on his bed. If he could, he’d take it back. He’d tell Spencer how sorry he was and he’d explain what had happened that night, how he hadn’t meant to take advantage of a passed-out Spencer to have unprotected sex with him. Two wrongs had not a right made. Spencer’s mistake in bringing the drugs into Ethan’s home had not been a calculated decision, intended for some personal gain. The same could not be said of Ethan’s act of raping his sleeping friend. 

He had paid for that sin, over and over until there was nothing left – not even his twisted desire to see Spencer suffer for not loving him back. 

All of this passed through Ethan’s mind with lightning speed in the manner of one who has had a light shone into the dark places of his heart. Finally, Ethan’s efforts to speak paid off and with his dying breath, the words he left behind were simple and direct: “I’m sorry about the letter.”

*******

Ethan’s eyes became vacant as he stared into eternity. His body went limp in Reid’s arms and all around the shocked young man, there was commotion, a cacophony of lights and noise that Reid, in his grief, was oblivious to. Someone had turned the water off. Other hands, strange hands wearing latex gloves, forcibly snatched Ethan’s body from his arms and began to render advanced medical aid that was too little, too late. 

Dazed, Reid sat with his back against the dingy bathroom wall, knees up. He dropped his head into his blood-stained hands, he wanted only to wake from what seemed to him a waking nightmare. He should have known, his mind said accusingly. He should have known that Ethan was suicidal. Why hadn’t he called 9-1-1 right away after they had ended their conversation? As long as he lived he would never forgive himself – or get the image of Ethan’s wasted form out of his mind. Reid shuddered to think of what all had ravaged his friend’s health. Nothing Morgan had said had prepared him for the sight of such drastic change in a man who had shed the chubby form he’d had as a youth and had subsequently transformed into the handsome, sophisticated, talented man with whom Reid had reconnected. 

From what seemed like a great distance, Reid heard Morgan’s voice call his name with a sharp ring he knew meant that the other man was worried. Then he heard Morgan’s voice again and this time, he sounded angry. With great effort, Reid lifted his head and found not Morgan squatting before him, but a uniformed paramedic. 

“Agent Reid? Are you hurt? Is any of that your blood?” the paramedic asked.

Reid came back to himself then and looked at his hands covered in Ethan’s blood. At that moment he also became acutely aware that he was sitting in an inch of cold water that had soaked through his pants. He was chilled. He looked up and saw Morgan with an unhappy look at being held back by a police officer and a second paramedic. 

“I’m not hurt,” Spencer said and started to lift himself off the floor, but collapsed back upon the realization that Ethan’s body had been moved. The body was on a stretcher being wheeled out of the door, and once more the pain of his own loss and failure lanced through Reid’s heart. 

The paramedic kneeling in front of him began washing off Reid’s hands with a skin disinfectant cleaning solution. “I’d like to check your blood pressure too, if you don’t mind. You look a little shocky to me.”

“I’m fine,” Reid said in a voice that brokered no argument. He proved it when he got to his feet on his own, his mind already recalled Ethan’s words about having left a suicide letter. “I’m fine,” he said again and the paramedic shrugged his shoulders and moved away, thus allowing Reid to go to Morgan’s side. He wanted nothing more than to move into Morgan’s arms and convey to the other man how sorry he was for having dragged his lover into such a disastrous mess, but this was neither the time, nor the place. “Morgan, Ethan told me he wrote a suicide letter and left it on his bed. I’m going to retrieve it.”

“I already did,” Morgan said softly. “The envelope had your name on it and I have it in my back pocket.” Morgan paused to convey a silent message to Reid. This wasn’t a crime scene, yet it was also a violation of procedures to remove something that could potentially be ‘evidence’ in the unlikely event that Stewart’s death was ruled to be other than a suicide. Morgan didn’t have to explain why he had done what he did. His need to protect Reid’s privacy was driving him. “I also talked to the police already and explained what happened. That’s Sergeant Ritter over there.” Morgan nodded his head in the direction of the police officer. 

Reid looked and saw a uniformed officer trying to calm down an obviously angry manager of the Crystal Lake Motel. “I run a clean place here for decent folks. Do you see the mess that bastard made?” the manager could be heard ranting. “If the little punk was gonna off himself, why the hell did he do it here? Who’s gonna pay for the water damages? Who’s supposed to clean this shit up?”

A sudden fury gripped Reid at the man’s callous words, pushing the guilt and sadness aside. In four strides of his long legs, Reid propelled himself towards the manager. Angrily, Reid reached for his wallet and without even looking at the bill’s denomination, flung out a twenty-dollar bill. “I’ll pay for it. That should cover the costs of repair for just about anything in this dump which I doubt could pass a housing inspection. My friend deserved a lot better than to die in a shithole like this!” He stalked back over to Morgan’s side without seeing the manager’s sputtering red-face. 

Morgan was looking at Reid and his eyes didn’t quite hide his astonishment. Reid sighed. He rarely used vulgar language, but then again, he wasn’t himself. “What?” he demanded when Morgan just kept staring at him. 

“Nothing.” Morgan bent his head closer to Reid’s. “I called Hotch,” he softly informed Reid. 

“I wish you hadn’t,” Reid replied, though he knew full well that Morgan had no other choice but to notify their boss of this incident. 

“I managed to convince him that there was no point in him coming down here, but he’s expecting a full report first thing in the morning.”

Reid looked around and once again, the grief and sadness hit him, it left him drained and he wanted to do nothing more than to go home and read Ethan’s letter. 

“Let’s get out of here,” Reid said wearily. 

“You got it, Kid.”

*******

Due to the lateness of the hour, it was the morning of the next day already when Morgan dropped Reid off at his brownstone apartment. Morgan came inside, intending only to stay to find out what Ethan had written in the letter. There had been no talk of resuming any kind of romantic, sexual encounter; Ethan’s gruesome death had seen to that. However, Morgan knew that Reid was still in shock, though the younger man stubbornly insisted it wasn’t so. Still, Morgan maintained that he wanted to be there for Reid, and Reid had just shrugged his shoulders, evidently knowing it was pointless to argue about it.

Two tired, emotionally drained men went into the living room, and after Morgan handed the letter over he sat down on the couch while Reid remained standing.   
Morgan watched while with hands that trembled ever so slightly, Reid opened the letter and began silently reading. 

For as long as he lived, Morgan swore he would never forget just how cold the icy grip of fear that seized him felt as he observed Reid’s face. Reid’s expression changed first from one of disbelief. Shock then warred with disbelief until an expression of pure fear took over to triumph over both. Morgan watched in terrible dread and dismay as the color drained from Reid’s beautiful visage and for the second time that night, Reid’s face took on a terrified, horror-filled expression. 

The letter fell from Reid’s grasp and dropped with aerodynamic grace to the floor. Reid’s body folded in on itself and he dropped soundlessly to his knees, he mouthed a long moan of denial. Reid was gasping for air, seemingly unable to breathe. “Spencer!” In an instant Morgan was off the couch and held the slender, shaking body in his arms. “What’s wrong? Spencer what’s wrong?” Morgan was terrified for the young genius. The young man had suffered so much in the last year. His kidnapping and torture at the hands of a mad man had led him into a downward spiral that led to drug addiction and almost to the end of his career. Now Reid was fresh from the senseless suicide of his friend and Spencer was looking up at Morgan with eyes that pleaded for the insane merry-go-round to stop and let him off. Morgan tightened his grip around the distressed young man. 

What on Earth had Stewart written in the letter? Frankly, part of Morgan did not want to know what had the power to evoke such fear and utter devastation in the courageous, compassionate man whom he loved. The letter lay on the floor, just beyond his reach. Morgan was sorely tempted to release Reid and retrieve the letter, but he refrained. Reid needed him right now and soon enough he’d find out the letter’s contents. In the meantime, Reid was still struggling just to breathe. “Baby-boy look at me. Just look at me,” Morgan commanded, intense worry colored his voice. “Take a deep breath.” Reid was panting, his breath came in harsh sounds. His hazel eyes were awash with pain as he struggled to gain control of himself. He took a deep breath, held then released it then did it again. “That’s right, keep breathing,” Morgan encouraged. 

 

*******

Suddenly, Reid broke free of Morgan’s embrace and staggered to the bathroom. The sounds of violent sickness directly followed as Reid threw up the contents of everything in his stomach into the toilet. When he was finished, Morgan came up behind Reid and placed his arms gently around his waist. 

He was totally unprepared for Reid’s violent reaction. 

Reid whirled around and shoved Morgan away from him, agony and fear twisting his features. “Don’t touch me!” he screamed. Reid held up his trembling hands as if seeing them still bathed in blood. “Don’t,” he whispered. “If you love me, if you _ever_ loved me, you should turn around and walk out of that door and don’t look back.”

“That’s not happening , Spencer,” came Morgan’s hard-edged reply. “That’s not ever gonna happen.” Enough was enough. He would find out exactly what was in the letter and he’d do it right now. 

 

*******

The words were black symbols on white paper. Reid read the letter and it was as though he could hear Ethan’s voice speaking. Only what Reid heard made no sense and so he read the letter again, and then again until comprehension hit him full on like a tsunami that destroyed everything in its path. His fingers grew numb and he was only dimly aware of the letter slipping out and falling to the floor. He fell to his knees, shaking with horror, denial and the deepest shame of such a betrayal. Oh god, oh god, Reid’s chaotic mind chanted. Ethan had sex with him while he lay asleep in Ethan’s bed. His friend had raped him- he’d had unprotected anal intercourse with him when he’d been helpless to stop him. 

Then a newer, more powerful terror fell on him and he was seized with an ice cold coiling nausea that gripped his guts and worked its way out to his mouth in a low moan of horror. He’d nearly climaxed in Morgan’s mouth. He’d been this _close_ to nearly share an intimacy that could have infected the man whom he loved and stolen his life just as Ethan’s life had been stolen – just as his own might soon also be forfeit. 

Why was the air thinning? Why couldn't he breathe? Reid was gasping for air and the harder he fought, the more impossible it was to take in sufficient oxygen. He thought he was going to die here on his living room floor. Frightened and unable to speak, Reid felt completely alone. 

But he was not alone. In the midst of his suffering he felt the body of Morgan alongside him, as he embraced and spoke to him, demanding to know what was wrong. Doesn't he know? How could he not know that his act of rebellious stupidity in fleeing to New Orleans had led to the downfall of not only Ethan Stewart, but possibly himself as well? 

The gut-churning nausea finally became too much to suppress. He suddenly got up and lurched to the bathroom, frantically he lifted the toilet lid before he vomited forcefully and painfully. He felt dirty, diseased, locked in a nightmare where there was only one way of escape. Ethan had already walked the path of suffering and Reid could not escape the specter of a disease-ravaged Ethan. That was what awaited him – that was what he’d almost condemned Morgan to. 

And then he felt Morgan’s arms go around his shaking body and he saw it so clearly – Morgan wasted away to a skeletal condition, Morgan’s beautiful skin marred with sores that would never heal, Morgan suffering, - Morgan dying. Reid had to get away! He felt so filthy and disgusting even though had their positions been reversed, he never would have harbored such thoughts about Morgan. That was what the rational part of Reid’s analytical mind was trying to say. Unfortunately, the wounded, trapped animal inside of him screamed, ‘stay away’ and drowned out Reid’s reasoning. “Don’t touch me!” he screamed.   
Reid held up his trembling hands and all he saw was blood covering them – Ethan’s contaminated blood. He felt drained, bereft of sufficient energy to raise his voice. “Don’t,” he whispered. “If you love me, if you _ever_ loved me, you would turn around and walk out of that door and don’t look back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah...it's a bumpy ride from here...the devil made me do it.
> 
> Thanks for reviewing 
> 
> http://romanseartfanfic.com


	26. chapter 26

Reid closed his eyes, but the lids, clenched tightly together, did little to halt the flow of tears of shame and dread from leaking out to drip down onto the pair of strong, brown arms clasped about his body. The instant he’d uttered those desperately pained, wretched words, Reid had felt Morgan’s arms tighten. For a moment, the trembling younger man also felt Morgan’s body behind him, stiffen with razor-sharp tension. The air seemed to get sucked from the room and suddenly, Reid couldn’t breathe, could barely stand from the sheer terror of believing that Morgan, disgusted by his very presence, _would_ leave him.

Reid’s trembling increased as his brilliant, ordered mind descended into chaos. His very real fear of being abandoned to face a long and painful trip to the grave was violently clashing with his overwhelming need to keep Morgan safe and far away from the ugliness of New Orleans. Derek didn’t deserve this. What Derek deserved was a long, happy life. Wasn’t that what Derek wanted too? Didn’t Derek Morgan deserve to be free to walk away from a partner who had destroyed everything before they had even had a chance to consummate their relationship? 

They were both standing rigid with tension - locked in their respective internal struggles that neither one could win on their own. Then it happened: sudden, blessed capitulation when, with a breath from a gentle sigh, Morgan brushed the back of Reid’s neck, and Reid felt an easing of the tension in the other man’s body. Slowly, Morgan brought Reid to his feet. Morgan turned Reid’s body until Reid was facing his lover and looking up into Morgan’s deeply concerned eyes - eyes tinged with a hint of uncharacteristic fear. 

Ashamed for having put that into Morgan’s eyes, his mouth tasting of bitter acid, Reid broke away and staggered over to the sink. He opened the tap wide and began to wash his face and rinse his mouth out with cold water. The force of the open tap made the water splash everywhere. Heedless of the mess, Reid cupped his hands to pour some over his hair and face. He did it again and again as if he could wash the night’s events down the drain. Reid knew he would soon look like a drowned rat, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything anymore. He fully expected to turn around and see Derek Morgan reading the letter, and in that moment, it would be all over because then Morgan would know the depths of Reid’s folly. Morgan then would hence forth regard him with nothing but contempt and hatred. 

Finally, Reid turned and with an anguished look saw that he was right - but only partially so, for Morgan was indeed holding the letter, standing stock still, just beyond the doorway to the bathroom. But Reid had erred in deducing Morgan’s response. 

There was no contempt, not one shred of hatred emanating from Derek Morgan. No, what Reid saw in Morgan’s eyes was pure, steely cold resolve. It was a familiar expression Reid had seen countless times when the hazards of the job landed Morgan in a life or death situation, staring down the next psychopathic serial killer. That look meant, “Move wrong and you’d better believe I’ll take your ass out for good.” This was the Derek Morgan who would look the enemy in the eye and not hesitate to kill in order to save the life of an innocent. 

In the blink of an eye, Reid understood the thoughts that powered Derek’s expression. Ethan Stewart may be dead and quite beyond Morgan’s vengeful reach, but Stewart’s HIV status and subsequent demise from AIDS was the silent enemy which now stalked Spencer Reid, perhaps even both of them. That look was a vow that promised that no virus, no threat of illness and suffering, no amount of shame or guilt for past actions could stop Morgan from fighting for the life of the man whom he loved. 

Confusion swept through Reid then, threatening to rip his emotions to shreds. Didn’t Morgan understand the situation? Didn’t he realize who was to blame for it? They’d almost had sex. He’d placed Derek Morgan in very real danger and it was all because of Reid's unprofessional conduct by first self-medicating with stolen drugs, and then by abandoning his duty to go to Galveston and instead, running off to New Orleans. Whatever was in store for himself he had earned. If he had contracted the same virus that had led to Ethan’s living death from a multitude of diseases, then Ethan’s condition had been a horrific, close-up preview of what would deservedly happen to him. 

He was supposed to be a genius. Well geniuses didn’t do the stupid things that he’d done to nearly destroy his career and now his life. How could he have been so stupid as to have had unprotected sex with Ethan Stewart? How could he have been so stupid to have gotten mixed up with illicit drugs in the first place? 

Spencer simply couldn’t wrap his mind around the thought that Derek didn’t hate him, was not disgusted by him and in fact, would stick by his side and fight for him. But what about his colleagues at the BAU? What would his colleagues, who were in truth his family, knit together through mutual and friendship and respect, think? They would be appalled Spencer thought in despair. Unbidden, the taunts and jeers of childhood bullies long since grown to adulthood washed over him in an irrational flood, threatening to sweep him under. 

Reid clenched his fists and mentally pushed back the tide of bleak despair and paralyzing shame. No matter how he felt about his own circumstances, he needed to know that Derek Morgan would be all right. Just as the other man was willing to fight for him, he would have to be strong enough to do the same for Morgan. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Reid recalled word for word what he had read about HIV transmission and oral sex. 

Reid stepped back into Morgan’s personal space, looked the other man in the eye and spoke. “Derek, open your mouth, please.”

Taken off guard, Derek looked at Spencer. “What?”

“Your mouth. I need to see if you have any cuts, sores or ulcers.”

Derek shook his head firmly, understanding Reid’s mission, but strangely reluctant to comply. “I don’t. I promise, I would know.” 

Reid would have none of that though. “Please, Derek, for me. Just let me see for myself.” And because he could deny him nothing, Derek did as he was asked. The older man opened his mouth wide and silently endured Reid’s very intimate inspection of his gums, tongue, cheeks, and the roof of his mouth. 

When he was satisfied that he could find no signs of blood or cuts in his lover’s mouth, Reid relaxed, but only slightly. “I don’t see anything, but you have to get tested,” he said quietly. “Even though I - I didn’t...” he stumbled slightly over the next word, “ejaculate in your mouth, you still need to be tested.” 

“As do you,” Morgan gently replied.

Reid flushed. There it was again - the reminder that he’d been foolish to have gotten himself so drunk that he would not even know for months later that he’d had unprotected sex with Ethan Stewart. _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ No matter how hard he tried, Reid could not shut off the voice of recrimination in his head, but there was something else more important, something that demanded to be spoken over the pain of his battered emotions. “I’m so sorry, Derek. I’m so sorry for what my choices have brought us to.” 

“You didn’t choose _this_.” Derek erupted fiercely. 

“I chose to go to New Orleans instead of Galveston. I chose to let Ethan Stewart give me oral sex. I chose to sleep naked in his bed.” 

“That man _raped_ you!” Derek seethed with a world’s worth of hate and loathing in his voice. 

Reid’s answering laugh was harsh and bitter. “Haven’t you heard? You can’t rape the willing.”

“Willing?” Morgan stared incredulously. “You don’t have to be a genius to understand that you didn’t give your consent to have sex with him when you were asleep!” Morgan waited for a response, but there was none. Reid stood before him, a lost, hurt expression on his face. Morgan wanted nothing more than to take Reid’s trembling form in his arms and restore that measure of self-esteem that the bastard Ethan had stolen from him, but he dare not. It was clear by his lover’s body language that he didn’t want to be touched. 

Still, Morgan reached a hand out to cup Reid on the side of his face. “I know what you’re doing,” Morgan said softly. “You want to blame yourself. In fact you _need_ to blame yourself because the pain of knowing that Ethan - your supposed _friend_ Ethan - violated you and took something from you while you were unconscious is simply too much to bear. The bullied, picked-on boy you were a long time ago and the strong, competent man you are now, feels betrayed by someone you used to rely on and trust. You didn’t do anything wrong. You thought you were safe where you were - safe enough to sleep.” Silent tears were now welling up in Morgan’s eyes now. Bitter tears, of which he was not ashamed, ran down his brown-skinned cheeks. “Believe me, Baby Boy, I know exactly how it feels to be betrayed by the person you were supposed to be safe with.”

Reid felt his heart breaking all over again at the sight of Morgan’s tears - tears the other man was shedding for him as Morgan stood before him with his manly pride and strength bruised, but undiminished. Reid grieved from knowing exactly how Morgan could identify with how Reid was feeling right now. Morgan’s old youth football coach, Carl Weathers had seen to that when he’d stolen Morgan’s innocence. In Reid’s mind, the betrayal Morgan had experienced had been ten times worse than what Ethan had done to him. Morgan had only been a child, while Reid was an adult. 

Morgan was strong. Morgan was brave. The other man had already set the example for Reid to follow. Like a ray of light, penetrating the fog of his misery, the conviction that he could not be any less, came to Reid. Yes, the pain of Ethan’s betrayal would always hurt, but what was done, was done. Reid knew he would always hold himself responsible for his choices, but he had not chosen _that_. Never that. 

They were silent for a time then, each held in temporary stasis within in the personal space of the other, reaching out, touching - holding on to hope and life. After a time, they finally broke apart. Reid went back to the living room and sat down on the couch with his head in his hands. “It’s late,” he said without looking at Morgan. Morgan took a seat next to Reid. 

“Yeah it is. It’s going to be a rough day tomorrow.” Morgan sounded exhausted. 

Silence dropped like a shroud between them before Reid sighed softly then finally turned to Morgan and spoke. “We have to tell Hotch what’s going on,” he said resignedly. Morgan’s eyes darkened at that and Reid discerned a stiffening to Morgan’s body posture. Reid didn’t have to be told why - he knew that the other man was struggling to suppress the instinct to rebel against telling anything so personal to Hotch and Gideon. Reid understood that Morgan still felt violated by the way his privacy, concerning his past with Carl Weathers, had been breached. 

“What about everyone else? Are you prepared for them to know your business too?” Morgan asked evenly, his face hard as stone though. Reid flinched slightly, but he took the other man’s hand. 

“That’s not fair, Derek,” Reid managed to reply gently. “Hotch and Gideon never disclosed what happened to you to the rest of us. I didn’t know for sure until you told me.” 

Derek shrugged, not bothering to hide his bitterness. “It didn’t keep them from learning about it once it became part of the investigation and other people outside the BAU started talking about it.” 

“Then we’ll tell them ourselves. Get out front and be in control of the situation,” Reid replied forcefully. He was all wide-eyes and earnestness when he quietly added, “Besides, these people are not just our friends, they’re family.” True, he had not always felt this way. This attitude had been a long time in coming, but it was one to which he now firmly subscribed. When he’d first joined the BAU, Spencer Reid had accepted as fact the assumption that, while his professional expertise would be valued, but as an individual, his colleagues would have little use for him beyond that. Likewise he never envisioned himself ever desiring to, much less having an opportunity to know them on a personal basis. 

His lack of social skills and general reluctance to allow people to get close to him had taken much effort on everyone’s part to overcome, but overtime, he and his colleagues had done it. Lack of blood-ties notwithstanding, they were indeed family to each other. Reid’s logical reasoning was telling him that burden-sharing is what families did for one another, but that didn’t stop painful childhood memories with his mother and father from trying to hijack his intent. 

A resigned, half-smile crossed Morgan’s handsome features. “You’re right. You’re always right.” He muttered while ruffling Spencer’s silky hair. Morgan stood up, looked at his watch, and frowned. In a few short hours they would be expected in the office. “I’ve got to get home now so I can catch some sleep, shower, and get ready for work,” he noted tiredly.

“You don’t have to go home now, you know. You can sleep here and then give yourself time to go home and clean up,” Reid suggested. Morgan looked with a longing expression at the couch, but Reid was quick to make it clear what he wanted. “Sleep here…in my bed. Please,” he urged softly. 

Morgan looked silently at Reid’s pleading face for a moment before giving the only answer he could. Morgan ran a hand down the back of his neck. “Okay.”

There was no more discussion between them in the wee hours of that traumatic morning. Morgan proceeded to set the alarm on the bedside table. Then, emotionally and physically drained, Reid and Morgan, having removed only their shoes, fell into the bed and let the darkness of the bedroom surround them. Together, they slept, anchored in the love and strength of each other’s arms knowing that they would face an uncertain future. But they would do so as one.

 

******* 

At 7:00AM, Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner walked past the only other person who occasionally beat him at being first into the BAU in the morning. Through the open door of the older man's office, Hotchner could see Gideon, sitting at his desk. Hotchner made brief eye-contact with the older agent and stopped to mumble a gruff ‘good morning’ before proceeding to his own office. Once he’d arrived, Hotchner powered up his computer and began alternating between scrolling through emails and voice messages. He quietly sipped the first of several cups of hot coffee he would consume throughout what would turn out to be a trying day. 

Hotchner was a man who knew how to emotionally compartmentalize exceedingly well. He had to be in order to lead a team of professionals in a job that guaranteed constant exposure to mankind’s most gruesome deeds. It gave most who did not know him a skewed perception of him. The fact was, after last night’s unexpected, terse call from Derek Morgan, Hotchner had been left him with an ominous feeling that two of his agents had stepped into a deeper pile of shit beyond the bare facts Morgan had relayed. Hotchner’s presumably cold, unfeeling self had tossed and turned, unable to get back to sleep for quite some time afterwards. 

“It may be only smoldering, but there’s a fire somewhere.” 

The sudden intrusion on his quiet contemplation by the soft baritone voice caused Hotchner to look up to see the ever perceptive Gideon standing in the doorway. Hotchner graced Gideon with a tired smile that was more reminiscent of a grimace despite the welcome he wanted to convey. 

“You’re right about that. I just don’t know how bad the fire is yet,” Hotchner replied honestly. Gideon had no idea of what had transpired last night, but he didn't doubt that Hotchner would bring him up to speed now. 

“Maybe I can help,” the older man said sincerely. 

Hotchner beckoned Gideon to come in and sit down with a silent motion. Hotchner looked at the older man whom he looked upon as a mentor of sorts, despite Hotchner’s senior position over him. “Late last night I got a call from Morgan. He and Reid were at the scene of a presumed suicide of a man Reid knew in New Orleans. I understand from Morgan that it was pretty bad.”

Gideon appeared to go on alert at hearing the words, ‘New Orleans’. “Did Morgan mention a name?” he asked.

“Ethan Stewart.” The name meant nothing to him, but Hotchner did not miss Gideon’s eyes widening with apparent recognition. “You know that name?” Hotchner asked, intrigued.

Gideon nodded. “I do. Reid introduced us when I caught up with him at a hotel club in New Orleans. His friend was a very talented musician and I’m very sorry to hear that he killed himself,” Gideon said, sounding sincere. 

“That’s not all,” Hotchner remarked darkly. “Morgan didn’t offer up many details, but he said that before Stewart killed himself, he had been under the delusion that he and Reid were a couple.”

Gideon raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Hotchner continued. “Morgan assured me that there had not been any criminal activity involved…still, I can’t help feeling that there’s more to this story that could harm Reid or Morgan. I guess I’ll find out this morning.” 

“Humm,” was Gideon’s noncommittal comment. After a short silence he added somewhat cautiously, “This sounds like personal business.” 

Hotchner looked pained. He knew Gideon was thinking about the relentless way they had gone about uncovering Morgan’s childhood anguish and the resulting strain it had put on their relationship with the dedicated younger agent. He had no desire to go down that path again, but he was in charge and he would do what was best for the BAU, always. “I have a duty to avoid personal business turning into some kind of media shit-storm. The only way I can do that is to get to the truth of the matter.” Hotchner’s tone suggested both finality and end to the discussion. 

Having received the message, Gideon simply nodded his assent. Repeating his earlier offer to be of assistance, the older man rose and departed Hotchner’s office. 

 

*******

At 7:30AM, a full half an hour before mandatory report time at the BAU, Spencer Reid and Derek Morgan were seated in chairs opposite their boss. Normally, Hotchner could read facial expressions as if they were words on an open book, but he could get nothing from the stony expressions of the two agents sitting across from him. That in itself told Hotchner something. “What’s going on?” he asked bluntly.

The first chink in the armor appeared when Reid first chanced a glance at Morgan and his throat made a slightly convulsive movement. Then the young man looked directly at Hotchner, his gaze clear and steady, though there was some soul-deep pain showing in the hazel eyes. “You already know about the circumstances that brought me to New Orleans when I should have been on a plane to Galveston.” Reid began. He paused and took a deep breath. “We don’t need to get into that except for me to say again how much I regret my actions. What you don’t know is what exactly happened to me in New Orleans.” Again Reid paused as if collecting his thoughts. “When Gideon tracked me down, he met an old friend of mine - Ethan Stewart. When I was growing up in Las Vegas, Ethan was my only friend for a very long time. Uhm…when we were much older I became aware that he had feelings for me - that he desired me sexually,” he clarified. “I didn’t feel the same way though. That and the fact that he didn’t really want to join the FBI led to him dropping out and us losing touch for a few years.”

Hotchner nodded his head in understanding.

“You’ll never understand just how much what Tobias did to me messed with my head. I was in a terrible place and I couldn’t talk to anybody here, and I…needed to get away, _andIthoughtofEthan_. ” Reid’s voice was picking up speed with the last bit coming out almost like one, long, word-train barreling down the tracks. His nervousness had returned because, for one thing, he didn’t want to have to explain just what government resources he’d misused in order to find Ethan in the first place. 

Morgan, taking note of Reid’s growing nervousness did not hesitate to unashamedly place his hand on top of Reid’s. “Slow down. It’s okay, Kid.” Morgan’s use of his old endearment forced a fleeting grin out of Reid. 

Reid returned to his tale. “There were a lot of things that I didn’t know about Ethan.”

“What kind of things?” Hotchner asked, eyes fixed on Reid’s face.

“I didn’t know his past included an addiction to heroin. He’d beaten it, but you know what they say, ‘once an addict, always an addict’,” Reid said softly, voice sounding ripe with bitter regret. 

With unerring accuracy, Hotchner narrowed in his questioning with laser-like precision. “What happened to upset his sobriety?” 

A slight hitch in his breathing preceded Reid’s response. “I happened.” Reid reluctantly admitted. “Ethan took my vials of Dilaudid because he wanted to get rid of them for me, but... ” Reid closed his eyes and then opened them, revealing a profound sense of guilt and shame. “He used them instead, and that’s all it took for him to start using again. What I did - dropping into his life and exposing him to drugs - ruined his life.” 

Hotchner observed Morgan’s hand tighten on the white, slim one beneath. Morgan looked angry and as if he was fighting to control the emotion. Hotchner wondered at the cause, but he was astute enough to know Morgan’s anger was not directed at Spencer Reid. The bad feeling settled deeper into Hotchner’s gut. Surely Morgan didn’t blame Ethan for having been essentially ambushed and unfortunately falling prey to his weakness? 

“He made his choices, but he never gave you one,” Morgan said darkly.

“Meaning?”Hotchner demanded in a voice hard as steel. The story was not unfolding fast enough for him. 

Reid coughed and Hotchner could not help but see looks of fear-shame-determination morph across the young man’s face in rapid succession. Reid would no longer look at Morgan. _Here it comes_ , Hotchner thought. 

“Ethan was drinking. I was drinking. Too much. We both drank too much and well…we ended up having sex and I passed out in his bed.” Reid abruptly stopped speaking and stared at Hotchner. 

“What?” Hotchner rarely heard news that had the power to visibly startle him. It was strange then that Reid’s revelation of having had sex with Ethan Stewart had had that power. After all, Reid was a grown man. Of course he was entitled to a sex life, but up until recently, when Reid and Morgan had declared they were together, Hotchner had known Reid to be a shy, socially awkward young man, who was essentially a loner. Hotchner would have bet his career as a profiler that before Morgan, Reid had been a virgin, much less a man with a history of having had any romantic partners. 

Now Reid was looking at him as if he could read his mind. Hotchner felt color rise to his cheeks at being so transparent. He cleared his throat. “Please go on,” Hotchner said quietly. 

Reid took a deep breath…and floundered. “I was unconscious…I never thought that he…that I didn’t - ”

“The sick bastard _raped_ him! He had sex with Reid when he wasn’t able to give consent and he didn’t even have the decency to wear a condom!” Unable to bear the normally articulate younger man’s painful stumbling attempts to explain himself, Morgan interrupted with an angry hiss. 

“Morgan!” Reid gasped.

“Now Reid may -” Morgan’s words were cut off again by another sharp gasp - this one tinged with anger.

“Morgan, stop!” 

Hotchner observed the matching furious expressions on the faces of the men across from him with a huge measure of shock and dismay. His agent had been raped and there was no way that this was the worst of the news by the way those two were behaving. 

Like Morgan, he too was angered - furious that a young man as brilliant and gentle as Spencer Reid had been victimized in that manner. And like Morgan, his anger lay upon a churning bed of fear - fear for what he didn’t yet know. He said nothing though; words failed him and wondered why he’d not asked Gideon to stay. The air was thick with the tension of the unsaid until the moment Morgan hung his head and exhaled a deep, “I’m sorry,” and Reid, just as quickly, gave his forgiveness. 

The tension dissipated leaving only despair and sorrow to linger in the air until Reid collected himself and continued on with his tale. There was no longer any point in not being direct about the consequences of what Ethan had done. Reid ran a visibly shaking hand through his long locks. “Ethan contracted HIV during his drug years. He didn’t know it when he had unprotected sex with me. He didn’t want to know it until it was too late and his HIV converted to AIDS.” 

“My God,” Hotchner breathed softly, the enormity of what Reid had been through - what he and presumably Derek Morgan also may still have to go through - hitting him hard. They would need to be tested immediately. With early intervention - suddenly, a new and equally appalling question interrupted the Unit Chief’s line of thought. Based on the timeline, they were no longer talking about early intervention. “New Orleans happened months ago, and you are just now finding this out?” 

“Yes,” Reid admitted, hurt and fear evident in his voice.

Hotchner looked away, feeling unprecedented concern for the lives of these two men. It was not a sentiment that he would feel comfortable with declaring publically, but outside of his wife, Haley and young son, Jack, he considered the members of the BAU his family too. Right now, two members of his “family” were facing a personal crisis. “You need to be tested,” he said gently. Then he cleared his throat before tactfully pushing to find out if his presumption about Morgan was correct and thus he too needed to be tested. “Do you both need to be tested?” 

“Yes -”

“No.” Morgan’s simultaneous answer contradicted Reid’s.

“We are _both_ going to get tested. Today,” Reid stated firmly. 

“What were the circumstances of this man’s suicide?” Hotchner asked carefully changing the subject. 

This time Morgan answered, without hesitation or apology for doing so. “Ethan wasn’t just suffering from AIDS. He was mentally ill. He was operating under a massive delusion that he and Reid were a couple. He travelled from New Orleans to Virginia so that he and Reid could be together. He stalked the both of us for a few days once he’d arrived in Stafford.” 

“You spoke to him?” Hotchner asked.

“He confronted me outside of the grocery store when I was on my way to bring Reid some lunch. I thought he was a dying man and that I’d hurt him when we knocked into each other. At the time I didn’t know he’d staged that,” Morgan said, sounding disgusted. “We had a very enlightening conversation where he said a lot of things that firmly put him in the category of ‘stalker',” Morgan declared.

“And what did you do about that? To whom did you report your encounter?” Hotchner asked while coolly regarding Morgan. He knew darn well it hadn’t been either Gideon or himself. 

Morgan looked frustrated, but he spoke patiently. “I told Reid what happened; how Ethan approached me and pretty much declared that he was there in town to get back together with Reid. We didn’t do anything else because at that point Ethan hadn’t done anything to warrant police involvement. Certainly it wasn’t personal business the chain of command needed to know about.” 

There was no missing the special emphasis Morgan’s voice placed upon that last sentence, and it made Hotchner wince inside. Would they ever truly get past what happened in Chicago when Morgan’s secret had been pried from him? Just when it appeared that everything was back to normal and that Morgan had moved past the hurt, something seemed to pop-up to remind the younger agent of how betrayed and exposed he had felt in front of his bosses. 

Hotchner refocused his attention to remark matter-of-factly, “Until Ethan Stewart committed suicide.” 

Reid paled but Morgan stared back, his expression guarded. “Yes. Until he killed himself.”

“What happened?”

Reid visibly took a deep breath. “He lost everything when his delusion about the two of us came to an end. He called me and I knew he was in trouble. I got him to tell me where he was and when Derek and I got to the motel...” Reid’s eyes became liquid pools and he stopped then, unable to continue recounting the details. 

“He slit his writs in a bathtub overflowing with water. Perfectly staged for maximum effect, complete with a letter confessing to Reid that he was dying of AIDS and what he’d done to Reid that night,” Morgan said. There were no traces of sympathy in the black agent’s voice and Aaron Hotchner didn’t bother to question that. 

There was a brief silence in which Morgan stared stonily ahead and Reid’s face went impossibly paler. Hotchner eventually broke the cold silence. “I see,” was all the senior agent matter of factly commented. 

Hotchner stood up and walked over to the window where he stared out. The view from his window was one that overlooked an interior courtyard set with a few shady trees and strategically placed benches. Down below an occasional agent strolled through the sunny setting, or two or three agents or civilian workers could be seen relaxing on the benches, enjoying the fresh air. How relaxed and pleasant it all appeared. It was a far cry from the weighty atmosphere and drama being played out in his office. 

Hotchner took a moment to rearrange his thoughts as well as his facial expression before turning back around to address his distressed, anxious agents. “You both need to see to your health. That’s the priority right now. Go and get tested and then report back to work. Whatever happens we’ll deal with it.”

Morgan and Reid quietly rose to their feet and made to exit Hotchner’s office. “Morgan. Reid,” Hotchner called softly. The two men turned and Morgan raised an eyebrow in inquiry. Hotchner longed to say assuring words along the lines of everything would be alright. In his heart, he heard himself speaking words of comfort, steeped in the surety of a good outcome. But those words did not come out of his mouth. Like stars of a distant galaxy, those words were beyond the reach of what his naturally reserved personality could command. Instead, Hotchner found himself saying succinct words that hid well the depth of the sentiment behind them. “Good luck.” 

Morgan gave his boss a silent, assessing stare and after a short time in which he apparently read the things Hotchner did not say he replied, “thank you.” 

Reid nodded his head in silent gratitude for the support and the two agents left, closing the door behind the stoic face of Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read this chapter and enjoyed it, do let me know what you think. That's cool. ; )
> 
> http://romanseartfanfic.com


	27. Chapter 27

Morgan and Reid were among the throng of passengers debarking the Green Line train at the U Street Metro Station in downtown Washington D.C.. Their journey by train had been conducted mostly in silence, in marked contrast to the debate that the two men had had over just where they would be tested. Morgan and Reid had separate physicians at separate facilities but neither one wanted to undergo the task of being tested without the other one. They both could have utilized the clinic facility located in the building, but Morgan had flatly refused, being unduly concerned about privacy issues. 

“Whitman-Walker,” Reid had suggested cryptically.

“Who?” Morgan had asked, looking questioningly at the younger man.

“The “who’ is the Elizabeth Taylor Clinic of Whitman-Walker in D.C.. They’ve long been in the forefront of gay men’s health and the AIDS crisis. I’m pretty sure testing is free, we don’t need appointments, and most importantly, I’m 100% sure that no one else from the FBI will ever get information about your health from them. You can trust them. I do.” Reid had looked at Morgan earnestly while he waited for the other man’s response.

Morgan had gently brushed his hand alongside Reid’s face. “Okay. We’ll go there,” he'd said with a small smile, and Reid had visibly relaxed. They had a plan, now all they had to do was work out the logistics of how best to get there. Neither one wanted to drive their car directly to the clinic so they settled on driving as far as the nearest Metro train stop, parking in the garage, and riding the train into D.C.. 

And that was how Morgan and Reid found themselves standing at the entrance of the stone building that stood like a beacon of hope to so many whose lives had been impacted by HIV and AIDS. 

Morgan looked at Reid and slowly reached over and took his hand. “Are you ready?”

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” Reid replied bravely. 

They pushed open the wooden double doors to the Elizabeth Taylor Clinic and together, stepped inside.

 

*******

“Hello, my name is Carlos. Our HIV testing and counseling services are free and we offer results in 15 minutes. Is that something I can help you gentlemen with?” The face of the Hispanic man behind the reception desk was a confident yet compassionate one. He was smiling in a welcoming, gentle manner in a way that made Reid realize that Carlos must have looked at hundreds, perhaps thousands of young men just like themselves who had come nervously through those doors. 

It occurred to Reid then that there was nothing special about the two of them. To Carlos, they were just two gay men who may or may not be on the verge of receiving the worst news of their lives. That was anonymity of a sort. Wasn’t that a good thing? Isn’t that what they wanted? Suddenly, Reid wasn’t so sure that he wanted to be seen as just another gay man, fearful that he was carrying a ticking time bomb inside his body that would soon lay waste to him and the man he loved. More precisely, would anybody here understand that Morgan, _his_ beautiful, strong, smart Morgan deserved the very best medical attention, the upmost respect and care to ensure his survival?

Reid was drawn out of his musings when he felt a nudge at his elbow. He looked down to see Morgan holding out a clipboard with a paper and pen attached to it. With a blush, Reid realized he had missed whatever further exchange had occurred between Morgan and Carlos. The older man began heading toward an arrangement of comfortable looking chairs in order to sit and complete the form, and Reid dumbly followed after him. They sat down and began reading through the form which Reid quickly identified as a risk-factor screening questionnaire. 

He bent his head to the task of answering the questions, never once looking in Morgan’s direction. Reid was mildly horrified. As expected, the questions were straight-forward in their intimacy, but he was a very private person - especially about matters pertaining to sex. He should have been able to answer them without feeling anything emotional, Reid thought, but that was far from the case. Reid was fighting a mixed bag of emotions ranging from embarrassment to the pain felt by Ethan Stewart’s betrayal. 

The first three questions were general, non-intimate ones and Reid had no problem answering them. The first time he felt his gut clench and his face grow hot from a flood of painfully bad memories was at question number four. 

 

**4\. Do you participate in: Anal sex • YES •NO  
** Oral sex • YES •NO  
Vaginal sex • YES •NO 

 

It was a simple question. Why couldn’t he just answer it?

**5\. When you have sex, do you use a condom or other barrier:  
•Always •Most of the time •Not that often •Never**

 

His hand clenched the pencil a little harder, nearly breaking the led as bitter thought leaked out, unbidden. _I would have used a condom, but it’s kinda difficult to watch out for yourself when you’re unconscious._

**6\. Have you ever paid for sex or traded sex for drugs, food, clothing, etc? • YES •NO**

**7\. Have you ever had sex while high on drugs or alcohol? • YES •NO**

The first response should have been an easy, unequivocal ‘no’. He hadn’t knowingly traded sex for anything. The little deceptive voice in Reid’s head challenged him in a mocking tone. _Really? Did you not offer your body in exchange for comfort? Shelter in the arms of an old friend?_ Reid forced himself to check ‘no’ and move to the next question. The answer was painfully clear-cut. Yes. Yes, he had had sex after consuming excessive amounts of alcohol, had he not, neither he nor Morgan would be here….

 

**8\. Have you ever had sex with someone infected with: (check all that apply)  
• Hepatitis B • Hepatitis C • HIV/AIDS • STD • Not sure**

**9\. Have you ever had sex with someone who injected drugs? • YES •NO •Not sure**

**9b. If YES, was it: (Check all that apply)  
•Current sex partner •Past sex partner**

It was bad enough that when considering both questions, Reid had thought of his answers purely in relation to Ethan Stewart and the sorry events that had cascaded down upon them both like an avalanche. Far worse though was having stolen a surreptitious glance at Morgan and realizing that Morgan was answering those same questions too, but answering them in relation to _Reid_ : Reid, the F.B.I profiler, Reid, the so-called genius who had not been smart enough to avoid injecting himself with drugs. Morgan had performed oral sex on him and now he would have to answer, ‘yes’, possibly to both questions. 

The parade of ‘would have’s, could have’s, should have’s’ held Reid nearly paralyzed, unable to look away from Morgan, unable to continue filling out his form, until ruthlessly, he pushed back the encroaching wave of guilt and fear until he was able to turn his attention back to his questionnaire. 

Once finished, both men approached Carlos to hand over their forms. “Thank you,” Carlos said as he stood up to take the clipboards. “We’ll get you each in for a pre-test counseling session followed by a simple stick test. Is that okay?”

“It’s fine if you mean that Morgan and I can see the same counselor together,” Reid said firmly.

Carlos drew up short with a brief look of consternation. “Uhm…we place a high premium on patient confidentiality, as you can imagine. Normally only one patient at a time is counseled and tested, but if you both are cool with each knowing what the other knows then we can do that with your signed consent."

“That’s fine,” Morgan readily agreed. Reid nodded his head, feeling enormously relieved. 

Carlos led the men to a small, bright room containing health posters and medical brochures. “Please have a seat and make yourselves comfortable while I go and get the person who will conduct your tests.”

Morgan and Reid took seats and prepared to wait, but it wasn’t long before Carlos re-entered the room and another man, tall, and broad-shouldered, walking behind him, followed into the room. 

“Derek, Spencer, this is Jeff Cornet. He’s one of our qualified health care professionals. He’ll go over your risk factors, discuss ways to keep safe, and conduct your HIV tests. Jeff, meet Derek and Spencer.”

Jeff smiled easily at them and stuck out his hand to shake first Derek’s, then Spencer’s hand. “Nice to meet you two. I understand that you both want to be together for this. We can do that, but if you change your mind and want to be counseled separately, just let me know.”

“Thanks, Jeff,” Reid said, trying to return Jeff’s easy smile and knowing that he failed miserably. 

“Yeah, thanks. It really means a lot to us,” Morgan added.

“Well, let’s get started,” Jeff said, taking a seat. He took a moment to read through both forms and Reid spent the time staring at, but not really seeing the various anatomy models and informational posters adorning the office. Reid couldn’t help but wonder how Jeff would react if he knew that he could rattle off the facts and figures concerning not only the latest development in HIV and risk factors, with 100% accuracy, but the history of such as well from every single thing he’d ever read on the topic. His eidetic memory was not without cost though. Reid's natural nervousness made him prone to impatience, and when he became impatient due to stress, he sometimes missed the social cues that told him his words were causing verbal offense. Reid had no desire to make the day any harder than it was already so he steeled himself to face what he thought was the inevitable with as much grace and dignity as Morgan was doing. 

Jeff looked up after having read each form. “Okay, I’ve read through your responses. Would you mind if I asked a few questions just to clarify the situation?”

Morgan shrugged and answered, ‘no’. 

Reid swallowed and looked Jeff in the eye. “What do you want to know?”

“I just want to clarify something about the person you had unprotected sex with. How long had it been since he last used drugs intravenously before you and he were together?”

“I don’t know,” Reid admitted, feeling lost again by the lack of certainty. “We didn’t exactly have a direct conversation about it when I was with him in New Orleans. He implied in his suicide letter that it had been long enough for him to have considered himself as being clean.”

"The person committed suicide?" Jeff, looking slightly dismayed, placed the forms down. “So you don’t know for sure when he became infected with the HIV virus?”

Reid opened his mouth to speak. “He…” Reid closed his mouth. No, he didn’t know for certain. He’d made an assumption about how long Ethan had been HIV positive based on Ethan’s admission that he’d had his own battles with drug addiction. Reid began to feel utterly foolish. He’d paid such a high tax on his emotional well-being based on an assumption. 

Fissions of hope tried to break apart the fear that had gripped Reid as his agile mind leapt to where Jeff was leading. Sure, Reid knew the period in which Ethan had fallen ill had been after their time in New Orleans. But what if Ethan had also become infected _after_ Reid had left New Orleans? Reid’s certain terror that he’d also been infected by Ethan was based on the belief that the virus had lain dormant in Ethan until it had converted to AIDS. Renewed anguish temporarily swamped the hope rising in its infancy and this time, Reid’s anguish was not for himself, but for his childhood friend. Why hadn’t an intelligent man like Ethan Stewart gotten himself tested when he knew that his drug addiction put him at risk for HIV and AIDS? Had he done so, he may still be very much alive and even relatively healthy with the new treatments available for HIV. Reid’s heart was heavy with fresh grief all over again with the knowledge that Ethan had not been tested for HIV until it was far too late and already suffering from full-blown AIDS. 

That had been Ethan’s tragic fate, but it need not be his nor Morgan’s, Reid vowed. 

 

*******

Thirty-five minutes later Jeff finished going over their risk factors and advising them of other kinds of health exams available and recommended for them. When he was done, Jeff leaned back in his chair and assessed his two clients with compassionate eyes. “Believe it or not, that was the hard part. The worrying is over because that’s why you are here to be tested. From here on out just learn from the experience of going through the testing,” Jeff encouraged. “If neither of you has any questions, let’s get to the test.” Jeff began pulling on latex gloves and bringing out two HIV blood-testing kits. “Who wants to go first?” He asked, looking expectantly at both men. 

“I will,” Reid answered right away. He held out his arm and to his credit, there was no detectible tremble to the offered limb. 

“Right,” Jeff’s smile was an easy thing, meant to calm and reassure as though he discerned Reid’s true inner turmoil. “This HIV test is the most accurate test for detecting a medical infection.”

“Highly reliable, yes, but no medical test is always 100% accurate.” Reid said bluntly. 

“Unfortunately, you’re right,” Jeff answered candidly. “It’s still possible for someone who is actually HIV positive to not pick up on the test. Just because a test shows a negative result doesn’t mean that it’s impossible for a person to actually have the virus. Still, it’s highly unlikely. That being said, a negative test means the result _will_ be ‘interpreted’ as negative.” 

Morgan looked at Reid meaningfully. “We’ll take that, won’t we, Baby Boy?”

Jeff looked serious, as a man on the verge of rendering news he would prefer not to. You told me that your exposure happened less than three months ago. Unfortunately, it is true that five percent of people take at least three months or longer to show a positive result. I recommend that you be tested again after it’s been three months since exposure.” 

Reid could only nod his head in numbly. Morgan’s response was more animated. “Shit,” he muttered. “You mean the waiting isn’t over after today?” 

“Three months after exposure,” Jeff repeated softly. He took a pen and wrote down different unit numbers on each test’s stand to keep the samples from getting mixed-up. “This is a Clearview Rapid Test. All I need is a finger stick to draw enough of your blood sufficient to test.” Jeff gently grasped Reid’s index finger and quickly and efficiently, stabbed the fleshy part of the digit with a small lancet. 

Reid watched in morbid fascination as the blood welled-up from the pinprick and a hundred random thoughts followed. His entire future, possibly Morgan’s was wrapped up in that blood that had been liberated from his body. 

Reid continued watching as Jeff then took a syringe, collected the required amount of blood, and then placed the test stick into the stand to await the result. “That’s it,” Jeff declared. He placed a band-aid over the puncture and after changing his gloves, Jeff performed the exact same action on Morgan. 

“We have about 15 to 20 minutes before we know if your tests are reactive or not. Believe me, I know how long it can feel when you’re waiting, and I’m aware that I may not be telling you anything that you haven’t heard before, but this is a good time for a little post-test counseling on how you can avoid medical infection in the future,” Jeff said.

Jeff was right. Morgan and Reid both were well-versed in the practical science of preventative infections, but for politeness sake, they both stoically endured the post-testing counseling while one minute after the next past with excruciating slowness. Fifteen minutes passed and then 16. Seventeen minutes slid into 18 and 18 into 19 until at last the counseling and the patience of Jeff’s clients came to an end. “The test,” was all Morgan gritted out. Jeff immediately turned his attention to checking the results.

Reid arose from his chair. He wrapped his arms around his tall, thin body and turned his back towards Morgan and Jeff. However, his feelings warred with his actions. In his heart, Reid knew it was wrong of him to turn away, to make it seem as though they were now facing the news alone, rather than side by side together. He knew, but he couldn’t help it. At this point, he couldn’t be sure of his reaction if the news turned out not to be good. No matter what, he didn’t want to not fall apart in front of Morgan when Morgan would have his own emotions to deal with. 

And just like that, Jeff gave them an answer. 

Reid whirled around to see the look of intense relief shining through Morgan’s eyes on an otherwise calm face. Negative. Their tests were negative! Reid’s heart leapt with joy and at that moment he was able to believe, that second test or no, he had not infected Morgan. Morgan would be safe. Strong, beautiful, smart Morgan would remain that way because stupid, irresponsible Reid had not infected him. 

Reid rushed to his lover’s side and held him silently, clinging to that strong body and letting Morgan know through touch how relieved he felt for him. “Oh, thank God,” Reid murmured over and over again, his voice choked with unbridled emotion. 

The weight of the world seemed to lift from Reid’s slender shoulders before settling back down again like a cloak that had been temporarily displaced by a strong wind. He could not shake his fear that, unlike Morgan, he would not escape completely Ethan’s fate as the initial test seemed to indicate. A significant part of Spencer Reid had never had much to do with whatever occurred in the population norm. He’d always been different, been the odd man out, and he knew it because life had been a tough and sometimes brutal teacher. In Reid’s mind, statistics were against the prospect of him conforming to the expected outcome and at the moment, it didn’t matter that a heavy dose of irrationality was shaping his belief. According to his life experience, Reid’s conclusion that he was destined to be part of the five percent that turned positive after three months and an initial negative test was perfectly rational. 

But he wasn’t afraid anymore. Joy for Morgan blended seamlessly with quiet resignation for himself. He thought of the man he held in his arms and who was holding him in turn. No matter what, Morgan would be in the world, saving lives and bringing justice to the families of victims, even if he himself would not be. 

Morgan held tight the man in his arms and the fatalistic thoughts behind the words of gratitude spilling from the younger man were unknown to him. Morgan too, was busy expressing gratitude born out of the extreme sense of relief he felt. Had he any inkling of the dark thoughts still plaguing his lover he would have moved heaven and earth to stand between them and Reid. 

Instead, Reid and Morgan broke apart only to take turns shaking the hand of an enthusiastic Jeff who had been observing the two men with a broad smile on his face. “You are welcome to return in three months for a second test if that's what it will take to completely ease your mind. Now, if you guys don’t need anything else, I’ll walk you out.”

“Thank you, Jeff, we appreciate everything you’ve done for us,” Reid said sincerely.

“Yeah, we really are grateful for everything the Whitman-Walker Clinic does to help people, and now we know just how much. We won’t forget it,” Morgan added. 

Jeff smiled, but it was a sober expression. “Be well, gentlemen,” he said by way of a farewell. 

“You too,” Reid softly replied.

 

*******

Three months. Three long months. The words played in Reid's mind like an never-ending chorus. There was no let-up long after they had departed the clinic, and the young genius kept his fears to himself. The journey back to Quantico seemed long and longer still for the silent, contemplative mood in which it was made. The random, mundane thoughts which occupied each man’s mind never rose to sufficient prominence to keep the remembrance of what they had been through, and might still, go through, at bay. 

Reid leaned tiredly against the seat of the train and when that leg of the trip was done and they were in Morgan’s car, he closed his eyes the rest of the way, but he did not sleep. “You okay?” Morgan’s gentle inquiry broke through just at the time Reid felt the car slowing and maneuvering into a parking space before the engine was cut. 

Reid opened his eyes and looked into Morgan’s face, open and with a hint of worry. Reid smiled weakly. “I’m doing as well as can be expected.” He sighed and eyed his lover thoughtfully. “What are the chances that we can do this without the rest of the team finding out what’s going on?"

Morgan's expression was rueful. “What do you think? You know Garcia. She’s not only scary smart, her woman’s intuition is extra fine-tuned.”

“She’s not a gossiper,” Reid countered.

“No, she’s not, she’d never say anything to anyone else if we asked her not to.”

A look that was part exasperation, part resignation crossed Reid’s face. “It means we’d have to tell her in the first place and then that’s half the team who would know because there’s no way Hotch hasn’t already talked this over with Gideon.”

“And Jareau and Prentiss would want to know because they’re family,” Morgan ended by supplying the only conclusion he knew Reid would already have come to on his own.

The barest whisper of a sigh escaped Reid’s lips. He’d turned his head to stare out of the car’s passenger window. One arm was stretch out against the glass and his hand lazily traced the determined path of an insect crawling along the outside. “I know that,” Reid said in a low voice. “I know.”

“Then let’s go.” Morgan opened his car door and made to exit but before doing so he turned and leaned in close to Reid as if intending to kiss his beloved. And if Morgan noticed that Reid’s sudden turn and exit from the car did not quite look as though the younger man had simply not seen Morgan’s move, then he declined to comment. 

 

*******

Reid and Morgan walked into the BAU and by agreement, Reid alone went straight to Aaron Hotchner’s office to apprise him of their current medical status while Morgan returned to his desk without stopping to speak to his colleagues. He sat down and began sifting through his emails, and listening to his voicemail. 

Morgan had observed the concerned, curious looks being exchanged between J.J. and Emily as he had walked past, but the two women had said nothing beyond the customary greetings. Morgan was grateful that that particular trend continued even after Reid had emerged from Hotchner’s office to take his own place at his desk. 

The late morning progressed, and gradually, all of Morgan’s attention was drawn into accomplishing his tasks, though he was resigned to the fact that it was only a matter of time before one of the women breached the silence. Forty minutes later, Morgan’s prediction came true, of a sorts, when he lifted his head and his eyes inadvertently met the serious eyes of Emily Prentiss, whose desk was situated across from his. The raven-haired agent mouthed, “Are you okay?”

“I’m good,” Morgan mouthed back. 

Before Emily could advance another inquiry, Gideon appeared, somber-faced, his seasoned-eyes missing nothing. “Your presence is required in the conference room. Briefing in five minutes,” the senior agent announced. Morgan wasted no time in taking advantage of the opportunity to cut off any further discussion by quickly turning back to his computer in the hopes that he would appear as though he were simply eager to finish a work project before the briefing. 

Five minutes later, the members of the BAU were seated around the table in the conference room. Garcia bustled in moments later and deliberately took the seat next to Morgan while her eyes surreptitiously checked out Reid. 

SSA Hotchner stood next to Agent J.J. Jareau, ready to begin the briefing. Hotchner's dark eyes and facial expression bore no trace of the compassionate man, concerned over the welfare of two of his agents and friends. Before them stood the composed, tough leader of the BAU, ready to deploy the best minds to catch an UnSub. “I’m sure you all are familiar with the string of groper sexual assaults that have occurred in Fairfax County over the last eight months. These are believed to be the acts of a single serial attacker. As of today, the UnSub, whose police artist portrait has been widely circulated, remains on the loose with growing fears that the attacks will escalate into more serious sex assaults. Fairfax County Sherriff’s office has asked for our assistance in developing a profile of the UnSub.” Hotchner turned to Jareau and handed over the briefing to the blond liaison. 

Jareau switched on the screen behind her and a map detailing a neighborhood known as Monticello Forest appeared. “The UnSub is a serial groper who has struck 31 times that we know of, in and around the area of this Springfield neighborhood.” J.J. indicated the scope of Monticello Forest. “The women are between the ages of 15 to 49. The last victim was 32, but many of the women are in their 20’s. The UnSub attacks his victims with lightning speed, in broad daylight. He comes out of nowhere while the women are either jogging, walking, or waiting at bus stops, taking his victim completely by surprise to grab, grope and fondle them. The police have managed to come up with this composite drawing of the UnSub based on descriptions from the victims.”  
Jareau nodded her head at Garcia who promptly called up the image of the composite portrait on the screen. 

“Team, meet Mr. Creepy Groper. Mr. Creepy Groper, meet the team who is gonna run your ass down,” Garcia quipped in rapid-fire sarcasm.

Jareau graced Garcia with a grim smile before continuing her briefing. “Victims describe the UnSub as being a Hispanic male, between the ages of 20 and 30 years old. He is believed to be between 5 feet 6 to 5 feet 8 inches tall. During his assaults, the UnSub wore a baseball cap, a knit hat, or a bandanna. As you can see from the composite sketch he also has a close-cut beard.” 

“Despite the fact that this image has been widely circulated, and intensive manhunts and helicopter searches conducted, the UnSub remains on the loose,” Gideon remarked. The quiet senior agent had been casually sitting, one long leg crossed over the other as he sipped a cup of coffee. 

Morgan, brows furrowed in a frown, crossed his arms. “How is the UnSub making his escape?” he asked. 

“Police believe on foot - not by car or bike,” Hotchner answered.

“He more than likely has ties to the area; probably lives in the Monticello Forest neighborhood,” Reid spoke up. “What’s been the frequency of the attacks?” he asked Jareau.

“Since the very first assault that took place back in September, the UnSub has moved from periodic, single attacks to sometimes twice a day and as little as 20 minutes apart,” J.J. Jareau answered.

“He escalating,” Morgan murmured thoughtfully. 

“Yes”, Jareau agreed. "Despite heavy police presence and the fact that he’s attacking in a busy, populated area, the UnSub shows no signs of stopping. Last night 32-year old Carmen Venitas was attacked after she had gone shopping in the Springfield Plaza shopping center.” 

Garcia put up the image of the latest victim, a slender Hispanic woman with light brown hair. 

“The victim was putting her shopping bags in the trunk of her car when the UnSub suddenly grabbed her breasts from behind and fondled her. She fought him off and was able to give the police a description that matches the one the Fairfax County police have. Until last night that artist sketch was the only visual representation we had of the UnSub,” Jareau continued. With a flick of her wrist, she activated the video screen behind her and grainy, grey surveillance video footage of a parking lot began to play. All eyes were riveted to the screen as a man wearing a ball cap and a long-sleeved, dark jersey was seen walking through a portion of the parking lot. “This footage may have captured the image of our UnSub.” 

The moment of palpable excitement seemed to wan, then transform into disappointment as soon as the image appeared. Prentiss frowned. “I take it this has yet to be run through forensics for enhancement, because the man in that film could be anyone,” she grimly declared.

“There’s a high probability that you are right,” Hotchner said matter-of-factly. “However, his latest victim hasn’t seen this footage yet and we need to show it to her to see if she can tell us anything new.” 

Gideon picked up the folders containing information on each victim that J.J. had brought with her and began leafing through them, noting the photos appeared to show women of various races and ethnic backgrounds.  
His eyes efficiently scanned the contents before he spoke, thus changing the subject. “Looking at the victimology, there doesn’t seem to be any discernible pattern or characteristic common to all the victims other than the fact that they’re women. I suggest we focus on what we do have on the UnSub,” the team’s oldest member suggested. 

Prentiss frowned. “That’s not much, but it’s more than what the police know at least. For one thing, he’s an opportunity stalker. He’s not looking for a specific type of woman, but he’s able to position himself so that he can observe, identify a victim, _and_ be unnoticed while he’s doing that.”

“This is a high- volume area for foot traffic,” Hotchner noted. “There’s shopping center, apartment buildings, and an elementary school all located within walking distance of each other. The UnSub has been so successful in eluding capture because he can blend in easily.”

“Just like Spencer mentioned, it’s highly likely that by the ease of his escape on foot, he lives in, or close to one of these subdivisions, probably just a block over, or at the end of one of those side- streets.” Prentiss gestured towards the area. 

Morgan crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Even if he’s a loner, someone knows him. The more brazen the attacks become, the more they may suspect or even know what the UnSub is doing. Bastard likes the attention. Soon groping women won’t be enough for him,” he said with an edge of disgust coloring his voice. 

Reid spared a concerned glance at his lover before leaning forward, one hand pushing a fallen lock of hair back behind his ear as he put down a folder he had read through. “This is not about this man getting a sexual thrill at all. It’s classic compulsive aggressive behavior just disguised as sexual attraction to women. He’s expressing his need to be aggressive and domineering towards women - _all_ women by serially violating boundaries. He's likely overwhelmed by feelings of powerlessness and he compensates by getting away with trespassing those boundaries.”  
Morgan nodded. “No doubt his sense of power is getting an even bigger boost just knowing that the media is giving such close coverage and that the police have a heightened interest in these crimes.” 

“The escalation in frequency of attacks may indicate that it may not be enough attention for him. The community has good reason to be concerned,” Prentiss said.

“We need to canvas the sites of each of the attacks and re-interview as many of the  
victims as we can. My gut instincts are telling me that the police have missed something vital here,” Gideon said. 

What followed next was Hotchner doling out of orders to his team with his usual decisive, command efficiency. As the team’s liaison officer, J.J. already knew she would be headed out to speak with officials with the Fairfax County police. Garcia, of course, would remain at BAU headquarters to assist the team as the conductor of information. As for the other agents, Hotchner paired them up and divided the work among them. 

Reid found himself paired not with Morgan, but with Gideon. He nearly protested but discipline kicked in and kept him from acting unprofessionally. Instead, he looked over at Morgan only to see the older man looking back at him with a subtle, half-amused look as if to say, “I know.” Reid looked away quickly, thinking that he needed to train himself to be less transparent with his feelings.

Then Reid became aware of Hotchner speaking again and of being handed something. He looked to see that he and Gideon had been given a partial list of victims and corresponding locations where the respective attacks had taken place. Garcia had also sent the video file to their smartphones as well. From Reid’s immediate perspective, the five first and last names listed were mere black ink on paper - innocent victims, yes, but without an emotional, human connection to him at that moment. Reid knew that, before day’s end, the black ink would transform into flesh and blood beings who, having been touched by evil , would garner a heart-felt as well as intellectual commitment from him to see the UnSub caught and the victims sense of balance, restored. 

Gideon had gotten to his feet and put away his reading glasses. Now the older man was looking at Reid with wise, warm eyes. “Are you ready?” Gideon inquired.  
Reid, knowing his mentor well, had no doubt that the scope of Gideon’s question reached beyond the obvious, “Was Reid ready to go?” The only question was, how much did the older man really want to know? Was Gideon also asking if Reid was ready to do his job? Ready to work through his and Morgan’s current crisis? Jason Gideon was a tactful man and Reid knew that whichever way Reid chose to interpret the question, Gideon would accept his answer for now. Thus, Reid chose to answer only the most obvious interpretation, believing that the older man would eventually ask him directly about his personal situation. 

“Let’s go,” Reid replied as he rose to his feet and graced Gideon with a firm nod.  
The ensuing car ride to the locale of the first victim was a silent, awkward one with Reid wondering where the easy communication between him and Gideon had gone. He couldn’t help but feel that somehow, he’d chosen wrongly and that the older man was disappointed in him. He stared out the window, but he wasn’t really seeing anything at all. Thirty-five minutes later, it was with great relief when Gideon indicated their destination up ahead. 

The lower-middleclass neighborhood consisted of small, single detached brick homes situated behind slightly cracked and broken sidewalks. The houses were nestled on a busy street populated with rows of individual businesses and the occasional, small shopping complex. It was a high-traffic area with an abundance of transportation choices ranging from regularly-placed bus stops, to taxis, and cars. This particular neighborhood was sandwiched in-between a lengthy stretch of businesses.  
Gideon found a space and skillfully parallel- parked the car. Both men exited the vehicle and Reid took a moment give his surroundings a cursory survey, noting the nearby bus stop that had a few men and women of various ages standing under the shelter. He frowned and turned to address the senior agent. “You know, all of the victims, with the exception of Sara Venitas, were attacked in broad daylight, on various days of the week. Our UnSub could have a job where he works at night and it may be close enough to where he lives so he could walk to it.” 

“Could be,” Gideon agreed, and started walking toward the house where Venitas lived, while still speaking. “If we look at the areas where the attacks occurred, and take into account that he appears to have gotten away on foot, then we have plenty of 24-hour convenience stores, pharmacies, and gas stations where he could conceivably work and live close enough to to walk.”  
Reid followed behind, a thoughtful expression on his face. When they arrived at the door, several knocks and rings went unanswered until at last, the door opened to reveal a gruff-looking, unshaven Hispanic man in his mid- thirties. The man stared at the two agents with suspicion in his eyes. “Si?” he barked roughly.  
Reid cleared his throat and fished around for what little Spanish he knew. “¿Habla usted Ingles?” 

The Hispanic man’s hostile expression turned mockingly scornful. “Yeah, I speak da English,” he answered sarcastically. “And I told you nosey reporters already, my wife has nothing more to say about the little _punta_ that attacked her so you got five seconds to get the hell off my property.” 

Gideon and Reid pulled out their badges. “Mr. Venitas, we’re not reporters. We’re with the FBI," Gideon said in a reasonable, soothing, command voice. “I’m Special Agent Jason Gideon and this is Special Agent, Doctor Spencer Reid. We know what happened to your wife was extremely upsetting to her. We’re not here to upset her further, but we need to do _everything_ in our power to find this man and stop him before he attacks again and that includes speaking with her. There may be something she remembers now that she didn’t then.” Gideon stared into the impassive face of the man in front of him and received no response for his efforts.

“Please,” Reid said urgently. “I know your wife needs to feel safe, but how safe can she really feel knowing this man is out there, ready to attack another woman? Unless we get to him first, he _will_ do this again and the chances are very high that he’ll rape or even kill his next victim.”

Mr. Venitas' eyes flicked to Reid’s and something in Reid’s demeanor must have touched the man for some of the open hostility seemed to loosen as he pushed open the door and stepped aside. The man sighed and said gruffly, “Come in.” He gestured for them to sit down on a worn couch in the small living room. “Wait here and I’ll go and get her.”

“Thank you, Mr. Venitas,” Reid replied. The two agents proceeded into the home and Gideon gestured Reid to go in first. As Reid walked by the older agent, Gideon’s gaze conveyed a subtle nod of approval at Reid’s ability to turn the man’s ‘no’ into ‘yes’. 

Gideon and Reid sat down on the sofa and their eyes gazed around the room, each man noting family photos and the other décor of their environment as they waited. Not long afterwards, they heard the sound of a door opening and the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway. Mr. Venitas came in view, with his wife walking behind him.  
When she was fully in view, Reid saw a young woman who had, by not much, fallen short of being beautiful. Her long, dark hair was draped over one shoulder and she wore a faded blue sweat suit. Her face bore the signs of stress and lack of restorative sleep. 

“This is my wife, Carmen,” Venitas said by way of an introduction. “Keep it short,” he growled in a low tone. Reid and Gideon rose to their feet and introduced themselves. Then they all sat down and Gideon took the lead. 

“Mrs. Venitas, I know you’ve spoken to the police about what happened, but could you please start from the beginning and walk us through it?” 

Carmen examined her clasped hands for a moment before she spoke quietly. “I took our baby girl, Elana with me to the shopping plaza to get a few things. I parked my car near in the area along the side where the pharmacy is.”

“What time was that, Mrs. Venitas?” Gideon asked.

“Six-o-clock. I finished work at five and I picked up the baby from daycare at 5:30,” Carmen replied quietly. She took a deep, shaky breath. I had just finished strapping Elana into her car seat and I went around to the back of the car to put the bags into the trunk. I...,” she paused. “I don’t know what happened. I didn’t hear anyone approaching me.” She shuddered before recounting in a rush that ended up being an emotionally-charged mix of Spanish and English “A man came up behind me. He grabbed me around the waist and he touched my breast. I was terrified! Then he…” She looked at her husband who was scowling and blushed furiously. “He grabbed me on my - my ass.” I screamed, and I struggled to get away. I stomped on his foot and he yelled and let go. That’s when he ran away.”

“Can you describe him?”

Carmen shrugged. “He was stocky…about 5’8’’. He was wearing some kind of baseball cap."

"What did he yell? Did his voice sound like he had an accent?" Reid asked.

Carmen shrugged, then shook her head. "He just yelled in pain." 

Gideon took out his phone and located the video of the suspected UnSub. "Mrs. Venitas, the store's surveillance cameras may have picked up an image of the UnSub. Would you mind taking a look to see if this is the same man who attacked you?"

Carmen Venitas moved closer to Gideon and stared, wide-eyed at the phone. Gideon played the video and Reid discerned by the woman's expression what her response would be a split second before the men heard it. 

"Si. That's him. That's the man who grabbed me," Venitas said, her voice shaky with fear and anger.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thanks to all readers who are continuing on with the story and have let me know that the tale is being enjoyed with at least a Kudo. 
> 
> I would love to know what readers think.
> 
> http://romanseartfanfic.com


	28. 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the home stretch, Readers. Thanks for the folks who left kudos on the last chapter. 
> 
> Hope springs eternal for feedback...
> 
> This has not been beta read, so you know, read at your own risk. ; )
> 
> A small note for anyone interested: I have renewed my website, http://romanseartfanfic.com, however, it is close to the anniversary of SmugMug's announcement of major formatting changes. This website exists as long as they don't force the changes. Whenever they do, it won't.

Gideon and Reid exchanged subtle glances before Reid leaned forward to ask his next question. While it was good that Venitas had identified the man in the footage, the low-quality of the image still had limited value because it also had a high possibility of mistaken identification in the absence of other corroborating evidence. 

Reid cleared his throat. “Mrs. Venitas, that’s good. What would be even better is if you could tell us anything new about this man.”

Carmen Venitas’ face looked strained, her demeanor tense as she exclaimed, “I already told the police and you everything that happened. I don’t know anymore!”

“I know,” Reid soothed, “but maybe I can help you recall something that your subconscious mind noted. Will you let me try a safe technique, Mrs. Venitas?” 

The woman’s eyes went wide before they narrowed with suspicion. “Do you mean you want to…” She fished around for the word, “to hypnotize me?”

“Not exactly,” Reid quickly dissuaded her from that idea. “I just want you to close your eyes and let my voice guide you through the event. Will you let me do that, please?”

Carmen Venitas looked long and hard at Reid before glancing over at Jason Gideon, as if obtaining confirmation from the older agent that Reid’s suggestion was sound. Whatever Carmen saw in Gideon’s face, it seemed to tip the answer in favor of Reid’s plan. She shrugged, “estabien - okay.” 

“I just want you to relax, close your eyes and imagine yourself approaching your car."

Reid waited patiently as the young mother situated herself and closed her eyes before continuing. "You’re pushing the basket and your daughter is with you…,” Reid began. 

The next few minutes consisted of Reid asking a series of layered- constructed questions designed to expose as many details of each sequence of events as possible. So far, the exercise was proving fruitless with nothing new being provided. Reid knew that he was fast running out of questions for an event that was over and done with in less than a 30 seconds. Carmen Venitas had recounted her approach to her car, what happened in the moments before she was attacked, what she saw of the man, and what she did once the man released her. Reid, therefore began to despair that they were going down a dead road that would yield them nothing more in fair trade for the distress the UnSub’s victim was re-experiencing. 

The young agent looked over at his mentor’s face, noting the subtle look of frustration in Gideon’s eyes that belied his otherwise, impassive expression. This was more likely than not, the end of the road and the interview would have yielded no new clues that would help catch the UnSub. Reid swallowed his disappointment before asking the obligatory catch-all question to which he fully anticipated a negative response. “Is there anything else?”

Spencer Reid observed Carmen Venitas’ face as the young mother sat, expressive eyes closed. The moment Reid had asked the question, a startling thing happened that made Reid’s mind spark with curiosity. In responding to Reid’s question, Venitas had nodded her head ‘no’ while simultaneously crinkling up her nose in an expression of distaste. It was as though the memory of something foul had passed beneath her senses. Alert, Reid sat up straighter. _Smell. Had she smelled something when the Unsub grabbed her?_ The next question was out of Reid’s mouth even before his brilliant mind could even calculate the odds that she would recall smelling something that would be useful enough help to identify the UnSub. “Mrs. Venitas, did you smell something…something on the man who attacked you?”

Venitas’ eyes flew open. “Si”, she breathed. “The smell..,” she said, her voice trailing off. “There was an animal smell. Disgusting! He…his clothes…his hands...”

 _What?_ “Do you mean like dogs or cats?” Reid attempted to clarify.

Carmen looked perplexed, but then slowly shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe….I don’t know….she said, regret coloring her voice. “Last month, my husband and I went to a pet store with our daughter.” The young wife’s gaze slid surreptitiously her husband’s way before looking away. “I didn't like that smell.” Carmen’s nose crinkled. “That’s how that man who grabbed me smelled - like animals.”

Astonished, Reid sat back. Finally, there was something new to add to the UnSub’s profile and the only question was, what was the significance and accuracy of Carmen Venitas’ observation? Did the UnSub work in an animal shelter, or care for animals in a pet store? The possibilities were already rapidly assembling, disassembling, and rearranging themselves in Reid’s agile mind. “Thank you, Mrs. Venitas,” Reid said sincerely. “You may have given us something that will lead us to this man, and keep anyone else from going through what you did.” Reid glanced over at the senior agent who was already on his phone, talking to Garcia and asking the expert analyst for a run-down of all the animal shelters and pet stores within a 30-mile radius of the geographic locations where the attacks took place. 

The older man terminated the phone call and announced to the couple that they would be taking their leave. Agent Gideon offered his card to the husband. “If I can ever be of help to your family, please contact me here,” said the senior agent.

Mr. Venitas hesitated for only a moment before he took the card and then stuck out his hand in order to shake Gideon’s hand firmly. “Thank you. Both of you,” he said, sounding sincere. The man’s gaze encompassed both agents and Reid discerned in the depths, what was probably an apology of sorts for the rough start. 

“Take care,” Reid said simply. 

And then the agents departed. 

In the car ride back, Reid waited while Gideon spoke briefly to Hotchner, informing the BAU Unit Chief of what had transpired. When the call finished, Reid began speaking. “All that time, all those victims - and only the last one observed an order strong enough and distinguishable enough to even remember associating it with the UnSub.”

“I don’t think it was a false memory,” Gideon proffered. 

“Neither do I,” Reid said quickly. “Either there are other victims who observed the same thing, and never mentioned it, or something happened to upset the UnSub’s routine. He attacked after coming fresh from his job and didn’t have time to change or shower.”

“Could have been an incident at work that set him off.”

“That would make sense, particularly if his work environment is predominately female,” Reid mused. The young man inwardly sighed, welcoming the feeling of satisfaction that came with being able to move forward to catch an elusive UnSub. This is what gave him meaning and purpose to his life and for just a little while, he had completely forgotten about the horror of the previous 24-hours. The voice inside his head that had taunted him with the mathematical prospect, slim though it was, of turning HIV positive within the next three months, had quieted, thus allowing him to do his job in peace. 

But the interview was over, and the thrill of a fruitful inquiry was fleeting. Reid’s healing body was still demanding more energy than what he had to give and so, in the wake of the preceding events that day, he found himself fighting off a sudden wave of exhaustion. Reid looked down at his injured left hand, still encased in a heavy cast. The annoying, irrational anxiety over the future of his health threatened to return, but Reid brutally squelched it. 

That is until Gideon cleared his throat and asked the question Reid knew full well was eventually coming. 

“I take it that your and Morgan’s tests were negative?” The older man asked without looking at Reid. Gideon’s face appeared impassive, but Reid knew it was a lie that masked the senior agent's care and concern for him. Reid felt enormously grateful that he didn’t have to tell his mentor anything to the contrary, and yet…the older man was, in Reid’s estimation, the only person who could truly understand the pernicious fear that the possibility of a positive result later, slim though it was, would become his reality. 

Each man, in his own way, had lived an unusual life that had beaten the odds, stacked against them in some fashion or another. Reid believed that Gideon would be the one man capable of understanding that this was a situation where Reid’s emotions were out of control and at war with his intellect, and in this battle, Reid's emotions were winning. Gideon would know, without Reid even having to explain that, never before had Reid felt that _everything_ he held dear was on the line for the next three, agonizingly long months. 

The prize at stake was his life and his future. A long and happy life with the person he loved most was Reid’s deepest desire. It was the brass ring that he’d gathered the courage to dare and reach for –and life, well, life had taught him that there were some golden, precious things in this world meant for others, but not him. Like Derek Morgan. Morgan was good. Morgan was kind. Reid was a happier, stronger person with Morgan at his side-and thus was the very reason that Reid felt that somehow, someway, he could never have what he wanted. 

Reid closed his eyes wearily. “Yes. The tests were negative.” 

Reid missed Gideon’s sharp glance and had no idea that the astute man had heard what Reid had not said. 

“When do you retest?” the older man asked. 

“Three months.” 

There was a moment of silence before Reid heard, “I see,” coming from his mentor’s deep, soft voice. 

Reid felt a burden lift from his shoulders because he _knew_ that he’d been understood. Gideon would never mock him, and he’d never look at him as if he were an idiot for having such a great intellect and still failing to trust in the statistical unlikelihood that his test could turn positive in a later sample. It wasn’t stupid because however one chose to look at it, it _was_ possible, and Reid was an expert at proving possible, that which others believed impossible. 

“Spencer, I can only guess what you’re going through. I know what I think, but what I think doesn’t really matter here, when you’re scared out of your mind that you’re going to lose everything to a disease that will slowly ravish you from the inside out.”

“I know it sounds crazy,” Reid muttered. 

Gideon shrugged. “Love does that sometimes.” 

“It’s not supposed to do that to me.”

Gideon raised an eyebrow. “Why not? You’re human like the rest of us, right?” 

Reid opened his eyes and gave Gideon a rueful, slight thing of a smile. “Yes. Despite the best efforts of the kids at Cabrillo Senior High to convince me that a kid my age could only be in high school if I were an alien, I really am human.” He paused and then added quietly, “Just an ordinary human.”

“There’s nothing ordinary about you, Spencer Reid,” Gideon said firmly. “And that’s precisely why you are going to turn the tables on those emotions of yours.”

Puzzled, Reid looked to his mentor for enlightenment. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, your heart is trying to tell you something you know is true, but it’s twisted the truth to reach a wrong conclusion.” Gideon’s eyes briefly strayed from the road to Spencer’s face before returning to the road and the exit for Quantico. “Spencer, you are _not_ normal. You’re one of the most extraordinary individuals I have ever met. You think because you rarely experienced normal in your life that the rare odds of a positive HIV test are unavoidable. But you my friend _are_ extraordinary and that’s _precisely_ why you should know that you are going to beat the odds that are telling you that you will be HIV positive. 

To that, Reid had no response but he let his eyes convey his regard for Gideon’s wisdom. _A psychological double fake-out._ He would think about what Gideon had said and hope to hell that the part of him that foresaw doom and gloom would give him a break and just…go away. 

It was early evening when the car carrying Agents Gideon and Reid pulled into the parking lot of the building that housed the BAU at Quantico. Gideon had received a text message from Hotchner inviting the two of them to join the rest of the team for an after work drink at Micks, a local bar and grill. Reid would have preferred to go home and rest, but Morgan was most likely already there and the thought alone of seeing that brilliant, warm smile turned on him was enough to dispel the  
creeping exhaustion temporarily. 

 

*******

 ** _Six Weeks Later_ **

“Your hand!” Garcia squealed in delight when she caught sight of Spencer Reid coming around the corner. The young man had just returned to the BAU from his afternoon doctor’s appointment. “Now you can tell people to talk to the hand and they won’t ask ‘where is it?’ 'cause now they can see it!” The analyst beamed at her own joke and gently took Reid’s left hand, now completely free of any medical contraptions, braces, and now, wraps of any kind. 

Reid smiled softly and flexed his hand. Then he squeezed the fingers together and relaxed them with almost as much delight as when Garcia had greeted him. “It’s amazing. My surgeon said it was one of the worst hand injuries he’d seen in a long time and I don’t even have to go back for physical therapy.” 

“I’m glad for ya, Spencer,” Garcia said sincerely. “It’s about time you had some good news, I know how rough this last month and a half has been.”

It was true. It had been hard. Much to Morgan’s consternation, Ethan’s death had not completely severed all of Spencer’s involvement in the deranged man’s life and that had been a source of conflict that the two men had tried hard, but not been completely successful in keeping strictly between themselves. But there had been good days too and moments when thoughts of HIV were not first and foremost on the mind of the BAU’s youngest agent. It had been six weeks since the BAU members gathered at a table at Mick’s Bar and Grill for drinks. Over the noise of clicking glasses and animated conversation, Reid and Morgan had disclosed to Garcia, Jareau and Prentiss an edited version of what had transpired surrounding the demise of a man Spencer Reid had once considered a close friend. 

The three female colleagues had all been pained to hear the details of Ethan Stewart’s suicide, his illness and subsequent stalking of Reid. Their colleagues were equally horrified and relieved in turn to hear about Morgan and Reid’s possible exposure to the HIV virus and the negative test results. He and Morgan had taken turns sharing the news, but Reid had found it almost impossible to explain that, while Morgan’s uninfected status was a sure thing, Reid had lingering concerns about his. That was the part Reid had been especially dreading because the fear he harbored was not only extremely personal, but also rather irrational in its remote possibility. Reid didn’t think that he would get from the women, a similar understanding response like he had received from his mentor, Gideon. 

But he had been wrong.

Garcia, not surprisingly, had delivered a well-placed quip that let Reid know she really did get it. Jareau and Prentiss both had offered nothing but unconditional strength and support to both Morgan and Reid. The normally taciturn Prentiss had enveloped Morgan in a hug that managed to draw Reid in as well. Jareau had simply looked at them with soft eyes shimmering with hints of moisture and asked, “What do you need?” Sitting there in that bar, with signs of life all around, Reid had begun to suspect that maybe, just maybe there was another way to define victory in the midst of this hell that was his life. Could it be that no matter how things turned out he really had beaten the odds? The kid who had lost his mother to mental illness and his father to cowardice -the kid who’d grown up bullied, hurt and humiliated, too smart and yet devastatingly socially handicapped by Asperger’s, had become a competent adult who had found a home with dedicated, loyal people who loved and cared for him exactly the way he was. 

He did not have a definitive answer, but it was enough for now that within the secret places of his heart, Spencer Reid contemplated that in the losing lay the biggest win of all. 

 

*******  
 ** _Six Weeks Earlier - An Evening at Mick's Bar & Grill_**

_A bright moon shone overhead, and its light cast long shadows down the street and along the length of empty sidewalks. Spencer Reid’s neighborhood –oblivious to the fact that a delusional stalker had lurked about in search of one of its residents recently -was quiet and calm as it usually was. Reid, his face half-hidden in shadows, was looking out of the passenger window as the car, being driven by Morgan came to a stop in front of Spencer Reid’s brownstone. The younger man had caught a ride with Morgan from Mick’s Bar and grill due to Reid's casted hand making driving too difficult for him._

_His mood seemingly synchronized to the still of the neighborhood, Reid had remained quiet on the ride home. In the darkened car’s interior, Spencer Reid’s features were unreadable to the older man, but Morgan too had been silent, pre-occupied with his own thoughts, thus Morgan did not attempt to impose speech upon the silence. Morgan parked the car and the companionable silence held, even after Reid exited the vehicle. Morgan turned his head to peer at his lover as the young man stopped and looked around as if seeing the street, with its darkened houses, for the first time. Had it only been twenty-four hours since Ethan Stewart had lurked somewhere in the shadows, hoping against desperate hope to….to what? Morgan still couldn’t bring himself to completely believe that his lover’s supposedly stalwart, childhood friend had gone so far off the deep end as to believe that Spencer and Ethan were a couple destined, to be together. Yet  
that is exactly what had happened. _

_A glimmer of concern marred Morgan’s inner peace when Reid bent to look back down into the car at Morgan with eyes that held a strange expression. Now what was happening? Morgan wondered. At Mick’s, Spencer had appeared to have reached some kind of decision that had seemingly agreed with and calmed the young man’s spirit. They had departed the restaurant on a hopeful note, with the sounds and feelings of camaraderie behind them. On the drive home they had not spoken, but the silence had been a comfortable one. Now Spencer suddenly looked nervous and tense._

_Morgan frowned and a caution light sparked to life in his conscious. Why did Spencer look so tense and he been like that all the way home? He would have to do something about that look, Morgan reasoned. Something along the lines of hugging, caressing and kissing the look right off the beautiful, troubled face -preferably with very little clothing between them, sounded like a good plan to him. Morgan was tired, but not too tired to demonstrate his devotion in a physical way. He couldn’t think of anything he wanted more this moment than to fall asleep holding Reid gently in his arms after having made love to him. That thought made Morgan smile inwardly. He didn’t think that Reid would mind if he stayed the night again considering the recent stress._

_Reid was walking up the stairs and Morgan hastily got out of the car too. The older man followed Reid up the stairs of the Brownstone and waited patiently as Reid jiggled his keys as he opened the door. When Reid got the door opened, Morgan made as if to follow._

_And that’s when Morgan knew for sure that all was not well._

_The front door opened, but Reid did not proceed inside. Instead, he turned and his slender body not so subtly blocked the entrance, halting Morgan’s progress inside. “I’m very tired, Morgan,” Reid said softly._

_“I know,” Morgan replied, observing his lover closely. “I am too. We’ll both feel better after we’ve had some rest. Would you mind if I stayed over?”_

_Unbelievingly, Morgan saw a look of fear bloom before dying in Reid’s eyes, yet the young genius managed to look at Morgan with an expression that conveyed both determination and desperate longing in his eyes._

_Morgan instinctively reached out for Reid, then stopped and withdrew his hands when the younger man moved away. “Babyboy, what’s wrong?”_

_“Uhm, nothing. I uh…it’s late and I think we should go to bed,” Reid stammered._

_“Yeah. Ok. That’s fine. I’m tired too. Why don’t we just go to sleep?,” Morgan swallowed his disappointment and smiled reassuringly. After all, it wasn’t like he couldn’t relate to being exhausted. Sex could wait. Rest could not. He put his hand on gently on Reid’s arm and this time the young man did not withdraw but his  
discomfort was becoming increasingly more obvious. _

_Looking nervous, Reid tried again. "I mean for you to sleep in your own bed. In your own home."_

_Taken aback, Morgan replied, "What? Why?"_

_"I have something I want to say… and I know you’re not going to like it, or even understand, but it’s what I need…it’s what’s best,” Reid’s words tumbled out, head over heels._

_Morgan felt a headache coming on, but he spoke carefully. “Do you think we can go inside and talk, it’s kinda cool out here.” It was true, it had been a warm day, but the night had brought forth a breeze to accompany the drop in temperature._

_“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Morgan,” Reid replied in a low voice._

_Surprised, his senses now on full alert, Morgan wanted to know why._

_“Because I want to kiss you…do things to you and have you do things to me and we can’t…I can’t -not until I know it’s safe and if you come inside then you’ll be in my bed and I’llwanttotouchyouandthenI..we…we won’t stop, and I can’t….I.won’t.put you at risk!” Reid practically shouted. _

_For a moment, Morgan was too stunned to answer. Reid was too intelligent for this. He knew all of the ways one could and could not contract HIV and yet the young man was willing to cut off all intimate contact on the fear of a minute chance of producing an HIV positive test three, long months from now?_

_Then the stunned feeling gave way to inexplicable hurt. Helplessly, a strained “Baby…” was all Morgan could get out at first. “This isn’t rational. You know that, but it’s late so I’m going to go now. Let’s talk tomorrow, okay?”_

_“There’s nothing to talk about. I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m not trying to hurt us, but I’ve made so many mistakes. I was never in my mind to fuck over a good man, but I did and he’s dead.”_

_Jealous anger flared in Morgan’s great heart. He would regret his answering words later, but in the heat of the moment, he spoke bitter truth: “He wasn’t the only one who got fucked over. Did you forget that?”_

_Reid’s face paled and his body stiffened. “No. I didn’t forget. I know what he did and…I’ve forgiven him.”_

_Morgan simply looked at Reid, performing his own analysis of the situation until the answer came to him. “But this isn’t about protecting me from you, is it? This is about you not forgiving yourself and some misguided need to punish yourself.”_

_Reid shook his head weakly. “That’s not true,” but even to Reid’s ears his protest rang false. “I can’t put you at risk…I won’t put you at risk.”_

_Morgan took a deep breath and held out his hands in a calming gesture. “Spencer, I’m not an animal. We don’t have to have sex if one of us doesn’t want to, but you’re not being rational here and you’re letting fear keep you from doing something that we can enjoy safely while we wait.”_

_“It’s three months, Morgan. I’m sorry, but I just can’t go for three months playing Russian roulette with your life like that. God help me, maybe you’re right about me satisfying some need to be punished for what I did, but I can’t help how I feel." Now Reid stopped and swallowed convulsively and he looked more miserable than Morgan had ever seen. "I just think it’s best if we don’t see each other outside of the office until I get my test results back.” Reid's words fell upon the night air that was now chilled by something less natural than a breeze._

_Silence._

_Then Morgan’s eyes went flat and his face closed, but when he spoke his voice was low and steady. “Okay. Three months. I don’t come to your house, you don’t come to mine. We don’t talk after hours, we don’t go out to dinner. We’ll be strictly professional. You got it.” And then he turned, walked back to his car and got in._

_Despite his inner chant not to look, his eyes strayed to the rear view mirror hoping to see Spencer standing in the doorway looking back at him, but in the pale of the white moonlight, the doorway was empty and held no Spencer Reid in sight._.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not Beta'd. Read at your own risk. 
> 
> Sort of a slow chapter, but necessary to move the plot forward. As always, if you are reading this work, I am requesting FB.

It was well past midnight and a sleepless Reid lay alone in his old-fashioned wood-frame bed, staring up at the changing shadows on his bedroom ceiling. That it was accomplishing nothing was an idea Reid had no problem grasping, yet he felt powerless to do much about it. Every time he had closed his eyes the vision of Morgan’s face, smiling from a wealth of strength and health became distorted and something ugly when the ravaged visage of Ethan Stewart superimposed itself over Morgan’s. Decay and death transformed Derek Morgan into something unrecognizable and loathsome. Repeatedly, the specter came to terrify the young genius, when he closed his eyes, until all he could do was hoarsely chant, “no, no, no.” It was an illusion, he knew, conjured forth by his own mind’s exaggerated fear of making love to Morgan, as he longed to do, and having Morgan subsequently test positive for HIV. 

Much to his frustration, he could not simply reason the irrational fear away. What had arisen in him was a terror so bone-deep it stubbornly refused the application of logic. The irony of Reid’s mental state was that the one person who had the power to calm and put things back into perspective, was both the object of and source of Reid's overwhelming terror. That terror had caused Reid to unilaterally impose a three-month long separation upon their budding romance. 

It was in those dark, lengthening solitary hours when Spencer Reid’s thoughts turned to his mother. It had been a very long time since the young agent had contemplated the view of the world that held his mother captive in her own mind. He wasn't suffering from a crippling mental illness as his mother was, but if this was just a small taste of how his mother lived, then he had lived all these years without truly appreciating his mother’s struggles. Reid wished he could reach out to her and unburden himself to receive the love and support mothers usually gave to their children, but that was not possible. He was his mother's support system. He was her rock. He could not go to her and burden his emotionally fragile mother with his relationship and health problems, real or imagined. 

Reid’s tired mind had kept an unproductive counsel with itself. What had he done? Why had he done it? Reid was not a man accustomed to second-guessing himself. Though he was keenly aware of how remote the possibility of turning HIV positive was, he had tried and tried to analyze and take apart the problem to find a solution in the cold light of reason. The obsessive need to keep himself away from Morgan was fueled by an exaggerated fear of sexual temptation leading them to act recklessly before the final HIV test. The response was a hardening of his heart to the action he had decided to take. 

Reid considered the irony of the situation. Ethan had hurt him, but Reid had also hurt Ethan. In fact, he had been the one first to do so. Now Reid found himself in the sorry position of inflicting hurt on the man whom he loved above any other person. His hand, as if on its own accord, and despite the lateness of the hour, reached for his phone, but Reid jammed the offending appendage under the opposite armpit. _This hurt is different,_ Reid’s inner voice argued. The hurt he was causing Morgan now was temporary, and in Reid’s mind, necessary. 

Such were the circular thoughts going round and round Reid’s tired mind. The young doctor was exhausted, but every time he closed his eyes, he either saw a grim, death-like version of Morgan, or else he saw the face of his beloved right before Mogan’s confused expression had turned to pain in response to what Reid had told him. Reid had read other emotions in Morgan’s eyes too. Frustration and disappointment, tinged with a shade of jealously had shown in the chocolate depths of Morgan’s eyes, and Reid reeled under the weight of guilt that he felt. He had been responsible for putting those feelings in Morgan and the pain of that knowledge robbed Reid, for a substantial time, of the ability to sleep. 

In the wee hours of the morning, Reid’s eyes closed and did not reopen. He had finally fallen into a sleep deep enough to claim oblivion from the parade of specters and troubling emotions. 

 

*******

When Reid next opened his eyes, it was only under duress from a blaring alarm set deliberately out of arm’s reach. He groaned aloud and stumbled out of bed to silence the alarm. Then he stood, bleary-eyed in t-shirt and boxers before figuring out that the bathroom was his destination. Once there, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and did a double-take. He looked awful. His appearance spoke eloquently of his inner turmoil. Aside from his hair which was a tangled, limp mess of brown silk, the flesh under his eyes had a deeper, more pronounced dark coloring, making him look worn out and as tired as he felt. His face was pale and his hazel eyes looked back at him with a somber expression born of lingering exhaustion. The young genius despaired of his appearance, having no desire to look so wrung out in front of his colleagues - especially when he’d just had an evening of great fellowship with them the night before at Mick’s. They had all been so strong and wonderfully supportive and he didn’t want make himself the object of their concern while he waited for time to pass. That wouldn't happen if his teammates knew that he had asked Derek to keep his personal distance, but of course, he had not presumed to ask the older man to keep that news to himself. If Morgan needed a confidant, who was Reid to object?

As for himself, even after all those months past when Gideon had found him holed-up at the hotel jazz club in New Orleans and given him a second chance to remain with the BAU, Reid still keenly felt the need to prove himself an invaluable, dependable member of the team. Doing so was going to prove a difficult task if he showed up at the office looking as miserable and tired as he felt just because he’d made a difficult decision involving his personal life. 

What he needed to do, he reasoned, was to employ a tried and true strategy that had served him well in the past and would do so now to get him through the next three months. Compartmentalization was a strategy that had gotten him through some tough childhood days when he'd been bullied, isolated, and afraid of being taken away from his mother. He desperately needed to take his nightmares about Morgan’s health, his fears for himself, of suffering and death and lock them into a strong box and bury the key. He needed to be able to come to work and immerse himself in every task and assist on any case until it felt as though there were not enough hours in the day to accomplish his work. For the next three months he wanted nothing more than to fall exhausted into bed after a busy day's work, to sleep a dreamless, sound sleep and wake up and do it all over again. 

He was half-way through his morning ablutions when it occurred to Reid that he had no clue how he was going to get to work since Morgan had been the one to drive him. Reid hurriedly grabbed a clean pair of boxers then grabbed his phone and dialed the nearest BAU team member, which happened to be Penelope Garcia. Reid dialed the phone and instead of hearing Garcia’s cheerful voice firing off a witty greeting, he got a slightly panicked-sounding friend whose phone had clearly identified her caller as one Spencer Reid. “Reid, what’s wrong? Do you need help? Where’s Morgan? -”

“Garcia, I’m fine,” Reid quickly interrupted the breathless blonde. “I just need a favor.” The sound of Garcia breathing a sigh of relief was so dramatically exaggerated that Reid couldn't help but smile. 

“Well, why didn't you say so? And can you really afford my favors?” Garcia asked wickedly, sounding more like her fun-loving self. 

Reid was happy Garcia could not see the blush he felt creeping up his face. He cleared his throat and pretended as though he’d heard nothing. “I need a ride to work. Do you think you could swing by and pick me up on your way?”

“Sure can,” came Garcia’s response. “Something wrong with Morgan’s car? Does he need a ride too?” There was no sense of prying to Garcia’s inquiry. It was clear that she had assumed that Morgan would bring Reid to work and if that was not the case, the most logical reason she could think of was that Morgan’s car was experiencing problems.

“No,” Reid quickly replied, immediately feeling desperate to delay the inevitable disclosure of precisely why he needed a ride. Before he could think about it, he added, “He’s riding his bike in to work and there’s no power on Earth that will get me on the back of that thing.”

Garcia laughed. “They don’t call you The Boy Genius for nothing.”

“They shouldn't call me “The Boy Genius” at all,” Reid muttered under his breath. 

“What? What did you say?” Garcia asked.

“Nothing. Listen, I’m gonna hang up and get dressed now. Honk the horn when you get here, okay?”

“Garcia’s limo will be right there. ‘bye,” The bubbly analyst hung up and so did Reid. He stood still for a minute, thinking about how the rest of his day, week, and month would go. Again, his thoughts turned to Morgan who he knew was not happy with him. However, was Morgan actually angry? Would it even be possible to maintain a professional relationship while all the while denying the emotional and physical expression of the love they bore one another? He was a fool for entertaining the idea that even if Morgan never said anything, their teammates would not figure out that he and Morgan were now keeping distance between themselves in their personal relationship. They would not pry, but neither would they not make any attempt to be of help, but all Reid wanted was to be left alone to do his job. 

Reid contemplated those things as he dressed himself and waited for Garcia’s arrival. When he was ready to go, Reid was keeping watch from the big bay window when Garcia rolled up in her big classic car and gave a short honk. Steeling himself for the day ahead, Reid straightened his spine, affixed a smile on his face, and walked out his front door. 

 

*******  
Two Days Later

 

The night following the revelation at Mick’s, Reid appeared to his BAU teammates, to be a young man who was focused, calm, and coping well with the reality of waiting in medical-status limbo. Only Morgan, who carried his own heartache privately, knew better. That first morning Morgan had come to work alone, wondering how Spencer was going to get back and forth. He had awoken that morning and almost without thought, had reached for the phone to call Reid to tell him what time he would be by. Then memory had come crashing down to dump an intrusive, mixed bag of emotions down upon him. 

He would not be picking up the man he loved. Neither would he be giving him a ride home.

_Oh Baby Boy, what are you thinking?_ Morgan wondered, his mood depressed. 

After all that he and Reid had been through in the last 48-hours it seemed incredulous that he had ended up facing a lonely, three-month hiatus from their relationship -all because Reid had let fear of an improbability drive him to make, what was in Morgan's opinion, an irrational decision that would impact both of them negatively. 

Morgan was forced to process his many conflicting feelings about the situation through the filter of his own background professional expertise in psychology. Yet still, he found his conclusions about Reid’s behavior wanting when applied to his young lover. To be sure, Reid was no coward. In fact, the younger man was one of the most courageous men Morgan had ever had the privilege of knowing, yet it still stung bitterly that the first man he’d ever given his heart to had so quickly and resolutely made a choice to weather a difficult time alone, rather than with him by Reid’s side. Weren't couples in love supposed to stick together and be there for one another through tough times?

Every time he thought about it, anger warred with disappointment. Damnit, he was meant to be by Reid’s side, standing strong with him, encouraging and distracting Spencer while the younger man waited to take the test again. Instead, he had agreed to keep his distance, interacting with Reid only on a professional basis. He’d been both stunned by the suddenness and hurt at the nature of the request and those emotions had propelled him to react in anger. Now, in the light of a new day, Morgan was of the opinion that he had conceded to Reid’s demand far too easily. If Reid needed space, he would give it to him - but not for three months. Morgan had resolved to approach Reid after a few days to see if he could talk the younger man through this. But if he was unsuccessful, Morgan would swallow his pride and his hurt and simply be there if Reid ever needed him. 

At 6:30 in the morning, Morgan had beaten even SSA Hotchner and SA Gideon into the office. He was seated at his desk gingerly sipping an overly-hot cup of coffee while his mind replayed the last two days of work. The first day had started off with Reid walking into the bullpen when he, Prentiss and JJ were already there. A stiff morning greeting between the two men had left an undeniable aroma of awkwardness in the air to which neither Jareau nor Prentiss had pretended to be oblivious. Out of the corner of his eye, Morgan had seen both women exchange glances. He had read their curious expressions with little difficulty. Still, they had said nothing and for that, Morgan was grateful. Over the next two days, his colleagues had appeared to take a “wait and see” approach. Judging by Reid’s rather impressive ability to appear focused and busy with work, their teammates had bought the act and dismissed that morning’s awkward moment from their minds, or were choosing to maintain an illusion of privacy. 

Morgan trusted that he was the only one who knew for sure that Reid’s apparent outward acceptance of the situation was nothing more than a brave cover laid over a world of heartache and deeply-rooted fear. Morgan rather suspected that Garcia, with her eagle-eyes and keen analytical mind had possessed something close to the truth. After all, Reid had to have told Garcia something as to the reason why he and Morgan were no longer commuting to work together. 

Not long after his arrival, the other members of the BAU started trickleing in. SSA Hotchner arrived first, followed ten minutes later by Gideon. The only clue the BAU’s leader gave that he was surprised to see Morgan in the office ahead of him was a slightly raised eyebrow. Gideon was less subtle. “How long have you been here?” Gideon asked directly.

Morgan shrugged casually. “Not long. Just wanted to get an early start on the day,” he replied evasively. He took another sip of his coffee, which by now was the perfect temperature. He gave a sigh of pleasure and gestured towards the coffee mess. “Now this is drinkable. Hotch always makes it thick like sludge so for once I’m glad I beat him to it,” he remarked with a grin rooted in a vain hope of deflecting further inquiry from Gideon.

Choosing to be distracted, Gideon paired a smile with a mock salute and announced his intention to sample a cup for himself. The older agent then went to his office and minutes later, emerged with his own empty coffee mug in hand. 

Morgan heard the ‘ding’ of the arriving elevator and looked up to see if Reid would appear next. It was not Reid, but rather Jareau and Prentiss who next walked into the bullpen, their physical presence proceeded by the sounds of a lively conversation and laughter between the two women. Seeing Morgan at his desk, they had each stopped to say a short, “Good morning” before going to their respective desks and continuing their conversation. 

Morgan couldn't help it. His ears strained to hear another elevator ‘ding’ and his heart beat faster with the anticipated arrival of the only missing person from the BAU bullpen. This was only the second day of Reid’s imposed relationship hiatus and yet Morgan keenly felt the wrongness of the situation. He missed Reid, plain and simple. Not only was this separation artificial, but yesterday it had been very clear to Morgan that anytime that the two had reason to interact together, the younger man had been trying too hard, a little too desperately to appear busy with work. To make matters worse, their conversation had been at all times, professional, but there had been a stilted quality to it that did not suit them. 

He couldn't help but think that after yesterday, Reid might have had a change of heart. What Morgan wanted so badly was to see Reid walk up to him wearing that enduring, shy smile, hazel eyes alight with love and delight for him. 

Inevitably, the elevator ‘ding'd’ and moments later, Spencer Reid appeared in the bullpen. However, instead of the long-for version of Reid, Morgan saw a figure who looked as though he was marshaling all of his emotional resources to assume a mask. Morgan’s heart sank just a little when he took in the sight. Reid looked like he’d not slept any better and now both of them would have to endure another day apart. Morgan’s eyes narrowed. 

Not if he could help it. 

He rose to his feet and made to go over to Reid -and was promptly intercepted by Hotch’s voice calling for his presence in his office. Morgan inwardly groaned and changed physical and mental direction. He’d catch up to Reid later and then somehow they would put an end to this nonsense. 

Together. 

 

*******

Reid stepped out of the elevator onto the BAU bullpen. He was alone save for the small amount of trepidation that accompanied him like an ever-present shadow. With his leather bag strap strung diagonally across his shoulder and his hands unconsciously clutching the satchel at his side, Reid found himself holding on to it as if it were a shield. He was biting his bottom lip, wondering if day two was going to be filled with as much of an undercurrent of tension between himself and Morgan as the day before had been. 

Probably. 

Reid sighed. Nothing had changed. His nightmares from last night had been intense and full of graphic images of a suffering, dying Morgan - a Morgan - dying because he had contracted HIV from Reid and subsequently AIDS. The pseudo-reality of that dream was too much for his rational mind to overcome and as much as he longed to go to Morgan, beg his forgiveness and fall at his feet, he just couldn’t do it because the fear that he would not escape losing everything was too strong. 

The young man started forward and when Reid rounded the corner his gaze was reticently drawn to Morgan’s velvet- deep eyes. Reid couldn’t help the startle reaction that made him briefly draw up short, and he was dismayed at realizing that he had failed to assume a more placid expression in time. No, that was not Morgan standing up from behind his desk. That could not be Morgan coming out and walking towards him. 

Reid froze for just a split second, staring like a dear in the headlights until the blessed reprieve of Hotch’s voice summoned Morgan into his office. Morgan’s path changed direction, but not before the man's brown eyes conveyed a silent message that was as plain to read as if Morgan had scrawled it on the wall: Later. 

 

*******

For the rest of the day, and the next two days following, Spencer Reid threw himself headlong into the work of the BAU, just as he had planned. Thus, Reid managed to avoid all but the most basic of work-related interaction with Derek Morgan, and even that was sparse for Morgan had been hand-picked to assist Hotchner on a special Task Force. As for himself, Reid found it blessedly easy to keep busy as there was no shortage of work to be done. He still had a lot of reports that had piled up during his hospitalization and home recovery. The reports needed to be prepared and submitted according to the established administrative procedures, and there was another criminology symposium at the FBI Headquarters, scheduled two days from now, for which Reid was obliged to prepare. 

Thus it was on day three that Reid found himself preparing for the teaching symposium. With such impressive academic and expert credentials as his, Reid was often the recipient of speaking invitations at seminars and symposiums around the country -invitations he regarded with a peculiar mix of both dread and enjoyment, for he had yet to participate in one where he did not initially struggle to subdue his nerves in front of a strange crowd. Being the object of so much focused, speculative attention was almost always initially uncomfortable for him. Reid’s introduction as a teacher at these types of events usually triggered a variety of audience responses, some which bordered on challenges. This, Reid had quickly surmised was attributed mostly to his youth and vulnerable physical appearance -both of which stood in stark contrast to his impressive professional credentials. 

Suppressing his nervous tells in front of his audience was often a losing proposition. The fact that Reid had plenty of experience observing a variety of predictable responses -from the skeptically challenging to the ones just this side of overly-intense adulation - did not help. Predictability of the phenomenon had yet to make Reid feel any more at ease in front of an audience. On top of that, experience had taught him that at almost every police symposium there were officers who recalled police work in the days before either computer, or sensitivity training. Those were the faces that telegraphed their cynicism for an instructor who they judged, based solely on Reid's physical appearance, to be a mere youth, too green and too damn wet behind the ears to be instructing his elders. That attitude usually left Reid dealing with a myriad of responses from minimal levels of respect given only grudgingly, to condescension, skepticism, and even ill-muffled, derisive commentary, though those were rare. That type of audience always caused Reid to start off talking too fast and stumbling over his words.

In contrast, to police audiences, an audience of hopeful FBI agent candidates projected different messages. Most of the would-be agents were young as Reid was, but many could be generally characterized as ambitious and naively over-confident in their presumed abilities. Consequently, most were excited, curious and even awe-struck by having a speaker so young and accomplished as Reid in their midst. However, from time to time there would be a dominate personality operating under the delusion that they could best Spencer Reid intellectually and would act in a challenging manner at every turn. The first 15 minutes of speaking was always painfully awkward for Reid, but like the long-distance runner who pushes through the agony of an arduous run to experience the rush of endorphins, Reid eventually found the sweet spot. 

Criminology and profiling were the young genius’s passions and the deeper Reid delved into his presentation; the more he warmed to his topic. Long arms gesticulating, in the throes of his lecture, he would grow steadily more animated until he completely broke through the barriers of his social awkwardness. He would no longer feel self-conscious under the weighty stares and scrutinizing, doubtful eyes. In fact, Reid would grow so enthralled with the topic that he would become dangerously close to forgetting that he had an audience altogether. 

It was during those times when he was deep into explaining the finer points of some fascinating aspect of criminology, that out of his mouth would excitedly spill all manner of rapid-fire, obscure facts related to whatever infamous criminal case was being discussed. And if his audience of hardcore police veterans did not fully appreciate the peculiar display of Reid’s gift of near perfect recall of the strange-but-true fact, the existential, geeky jokes Reid occasionally felt moved to tell certainly amused an audience of one. The facts Reid blurted out, and the jokes that went right over the audience’s heads, met with a wall of uncomprehending faces and sometimes left Reid floundering awkwardly. In the more fortunate times when Reid had a co-lecturer, Reid’s BAU colleague would run interference during bouts of awkward intellectual disconnects between Reid and his audience. 

He’d been at his desk all morning working on the draft for his PowerPoint presentation when he decided to take a break and work on formatting new images from the archived files. Normally, Garcia assisted him on retrieving and formatting images, but Reid, not wanting to ask Garcia for yet another favor, set about the task himself. Technology and Reid did not always see eye to eye though, and after the third inadvertent wipe-out of his hard work, Reid angrily threw in the towel and got up to seek out help from Garcia in her office. 

Reid past Emily Prentiss’ desk on the way down to the basement where Garcia was. The sharp, dark-haired woman looked up and caught Reid’s attention. “Hey,” she said. “We’re going to Vinny’s for lunch. Come with?” Prentiss asked looking hopefully up at Reid. 

Reid glanced at the wall clock. It was 12:15 pm already. How had he not known it was past lunchtime? He cleared his throat. “Uh, is Morgan going?”

Emily looked at Reid curiously. “Can’t make it,” She replied succinctly before adding perceptively, “He won’t be back until four o’clock so you can relax.” 

Reid’s relief was fleeting. He frowned. Garcia hadn’t mentioned she was going to lunch when he’d asked if he could get some help from her. “I’m actually on my way to get some help on my symposium images from Garcia. Can you wait for us?” 

“Oh,” Prentiss pursed her lips and her face assumed its customary serious expression. She shrugged. “I dunno if bothering Garcia right now is a good idea.” 

“Why?”

“Let’s just say that would be like walking into the lion’s den. She’s liable to take your head off.”

“What’s wrong with Penelope?” Reid was baffled. Whatever was wrong had to have happened this morning after they had arrived at work because she had picked him up to give him a ride to work and she had been her normal effervescent self. 

Prentiss shook her head. “All I know is that when I asked her for some statistics for something, she nearly bit my head off. I asked her what was wrong but she got pretty tight-lipped.”

Reid made up his mind. “Don’t wait for me.” He hurriedly walked off and yelled over his shoulder, “I’ll see if I can help Garcia and maybe we can meet you there.”

“Sure, Reid. Good luck,” Prentiss called at Reid’s retreating figure. 

Reid nodded and walked towards the elevator banks while the dark-haired agent continued staring long after Reid was out of sight. 

 

*******

When Reid’s knock on Garcia’s closed door was met with a muffled, “come in”, he had no idea in what mood he would find Garcia in. Instead of finding an irritated, annoyed or angry Garcia he found a friend whose expressive face looked suddenly worried and more than a little sad as she beheld him. Reid’s senses went on alert. Something was wrong all right, and a disquieting idea hinted that maybe it involved him. Reid’s eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out what was on the analyst’s mind. 

“Oh hey,” Garcia fumbled with false brightness upon seeing the young profiler. “You said you needed help with your images, right? Show me what you have….or had…or want to have,” the analyst babbled. 

“Is this a good time? Because I can come back later if you want,” Reid asked sincerely. Garcia's behavior was odd, even for her. 

“Why wouldn’t it be a good time? Oh god, did Emily say something to you? I’m so sorry I nearly bit her head off.” She looked down sheepishly. “Well, I guess I did bite her head off. I’ll go and apologize.” Flustered, Garcia rose from her chair and the bejeweled flower in her blond hair shimmered in a riot of color. 

Reid put out a hand to halt her progress. “Wait. She’s gone out to lunch. We can catch them at Vinny’s if you want, but first, is there anything I can do for you?” he tried to ascertain.

Garcia was looking elsewhere and not at him when she answered. “No, but let me help you with your project. What do you need?”

Reid looked at Garcia and decided the best course of action would be to move on so for the next 25 minutes, while Reid looked on and made conversation on a variety of topics, Garcia efficiently retrieved, formatted and assembled all of the necessary images until they were saved exactly as Reid wanted. Garcia’s earlier distress seemed to have dissipated; however, as Reid thanked her and prepared to depart, Garcia opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. She was giving Reid that look again, and Reid grew concerned for his friend. “Penelope, is there something you want to tell me?”

“Uh… No. That would be a no way. You don’t need to know this. It’s not your problem,” Garcia said earnestly. The analyst’s mouth was saying one thing but her eyes were saying something else. 

“Garcia,” Reid said, his voice with a slight edge to it.

The young woman hung her head and her face bore an expression that reminded Reid of someone about to have a root canal without anesthetic. She cleared her throat reflexively before attempting to speak “Okay, okay, uh, so you know that I have a good friend named Sara who works in the coroner's office?” She didn’t wait for Reid to answer, but barreled through, her voice lower now. “She called me this morning…I didn’t call her,” the young analyst hastened to add. “She said she’d heard a rumor that two BAU members had a personal connection to a certain corpse.” Garcia paused. “An unclaimed corpse.” 

“Ethan Stewart,” Reid said resignedly. "Why is the body still here?"

Garcia blew out a quick breath. “It’s Ethan’s family. They’ve been contacted.” Her gaze resting upon Reid was soft with regret. 

Reid did not wait for the rest. He shook his head and his lips pursed into a grim line. “But they won’t claim his body, right?” 

Garcia shook her head sadly. “No. They won’t.” When Reid said nothing, Garcia looked at him curiously and asked, “Do you want to know why?”

“I know why,” Reid said bitter and with no surprise. And he did. In his heart of hearts, Reid knew that any efforts to locate Ethan’s family would not end well, after all, Stewart had been a son, a brother, an Uncle - someone’s grandson, and yet he’d been allowed to die bankrupt, homeless, and diseased in mind and body until mental illness had driven the last vestiges of sanity from him. And Reid, knowing Ethan’s family, could advance a solid theory that Ethan’s decline was only the resultant consequence and not the actual offense for which Ethan’s family would have turned their backs on him. No, the family’s need to shun Ethan in death would have been brought about by any declaration on Ethan’s part that the object of his obsession was another man, not a woman. 

There was no way that Ethan's ultra-conservative, traditional, Louisiana Southern family would allow the people of their small town to learn the story of how their drug-addicted, homosexual son, had contracted AIDS, gone off the deep end to stalk an FBI agent, and subsequently committed suicide in dramatic fashion. No, as far as the family was concerned, the public story would be that Ethan was off living the whirlwind life of a musician. Who knew when and where he would be playing next in his overseas gigs? In private, the sentiment would be a true expression of hate and contempt- something more along the lines of, “good riddance” to the family shame. Reid felt bile rise in his throat. He felt sickened because even though he was angry at what Ethan had done, he knew that fear and illness had driven much of the older man’s behavior. Also, at the end of the day, Reid could never totally let himself off the hook for his part in bringing the drugs that had led to Ethan’s downfall. 

It was not hard for Reid to picture Ethan’s family, horrified, outraged, refusing to accept responsibility for Ethan’s remains. Why would his family care enough to take charge now when he was conveniently dead in another state? If not Ethan’s family, who? Reid’s heart sank. The question was not one the young man really had to ask because he knew by whom. The answer meant there would be one final act before the curtain fell on the play in which Reid hadn’t known he was co-staring. 

Reid swallowed hard. The decision he was on the verge of committing to, in the highly likely event that his words to the Stewart family would fall upon deaf ears, weighed heavily upon his heart. Emotionally, the young man was split and torn down the middle, with part of himself wanting to deny that Garcia had ever said anything, and the other part knowing that it would be a fruitless exercise to attempt denial. The young genius needed no lightning fast mental calculations to conclude that the only right thing to do would be to accompany Ethan Stewart’s remains back to New Orleans to see his childhood friend laid to rest. It was not a task he _wanted_ , but rather one he _needed_. The way Reid saw it, this was the last and only means he had of making things as right as he could for the part that he had played in his friend’s tragic demise.

However, the young agent dreaded having Morgan find out what he planned to do. All of the negative events surrounding Ethan Stewart, and the subsequent decision Reid had made to stay away from Morgan had brought nothing but heartache and trouble to the man Reid claimed to love. Reid bowed his head and his brown locks fell forward, shielding his featured from Garcia’s gaze. Had he not already caused his lover enough pain and stress? Oh, how Morgan was bound to hate this latest decision, but there was no way around it, Reid thought resignedly. The only question was, how much wider a gulf would Reid’s further involvement with the other man who had caused so much damage, even in death, drive between them? He had already hurt Morgan by pushing a wedge between himself and his lover in a absolute, albeit desperate, attempt to keep Morgan safe from possible HIV exposure. Would returning to New Orleans to perform this one last act for Ethan Stewart drive the wedge even further? Reid fervently prayed that it would not, but at the moment, the most pressing question seemed to be how would he ever be able to look himself in the mirror if he chose to leave Ethan’ s body abandoned in a morgue, not even in a morgue located in Ethan’s home state? 

No matter which way Reid asked the question, the answer in his head was always a resounding ‘no,’ thus seemingly proving that no matter what he promised Morgan, Reid had not escaped entirely the clutches of New Orleans, for her reach was long and her hold reluctant to loosen.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of the previous chapter has been revised and I'm not finished with that. Some of the writing I just was not happy with. 
> 
> LOL - well, there actually IS a plus side to unanswered requests for feedback - the only pressure to write is the one the author creates for themselves! In this case, I'm posting a shorter chapter now, though it is not really where I would prefer to stop. If I kept going though, it would end up being at least 2 months before an update, knowing how slow I write.

Small Revised section of chapter 29 here: 

Reid swallowed hard. The decision he was on the verge of committing to, in the highly likely event that his words to the Stewart family would fall upon deaf ears, weighed heavily upon his heart. Emotionally, the young man was split and torn down the middle, with part of himself wanting to deny that Garcia had ever said anything, and the other part knowing that it would be a fruitless exercise to attempt denial. The young genius needed no lightning fast mental calculations to conclude that the only right thing to do would be to accompany Ethan Stewart’s remains back to New Orleans to see his childhood friend laid to rest. It was not a task he _wanted_ , but rather one he _needed_. The way Reid saw it, this was the last and only means he had of making things as right as he could for the part that he had played in his friend’s tragic demise.

However, the young agent dreaded having Morgan find out what he planned to do. All of the negative events surrounding Ethan Stewart, and the subsequent decision Reid had made to stay away from Morgan had brought nothing but heartache and trouble to the man Reid claimed to love. Reid bowed his head and his brown locks fell forward, shielding his featured from Garcia’s gaze. Had he not already caused his lover enough pain and stress? Oh, how Morgan was bound to hate this latest decision, but there was no way around it, Reid thought resignedly. The only question was, how much wider a gulf would Reid’s further involvement with the other man who had caused so much damage, even in death, drive between them? He had already hurt Morgan by pushing a wedge between himself and his lover in a absolute, albeit desperate, attempt to keep Morgan safe from possible HIV exposure. Would returning to New Orleans to perform this one last act for Ethan Stewart drive the wedge even further? Reid fervently prayed that it would not, but at the moment, the most pressing question seemed to be how would he ever be able to look himself in the mirror if he chose to leave Ethan’ s body abandoned in a morgue, not even in a morgue located in Ethan’s home state? 

No matter which way Reid asked the question, the answer in his head was always a resounding ‘no,’ thus seemingly proving that no matter what he promised Morgan, Reid had not escaped entirely the clutches of New Orleans, for her reach was long and her hold reluctant to loosen. 

\------------------------------  
Garcia looked at Reid with long-lashed eyes that saw far too much of Reid’s internal battle. “That little voice inside your head is telling you to do something against your better judgment isn’t it?” she asked bluntly. 

Reid shrugged helplessly, feeling the need to make his friend understand and thinking that he could not. “No, it isn’t. It’s telling me that taking charge of my friend’s remains is the _right_. thing to do, no matter what anybody else may think.”

Reid was taken aback when, for a rare moment, he observed Garcia’s eyes flare with something that resembled anger on her normally joyful face. “Do you mean Morgan? Garcia demanded tersely. "You know, the man who would lay down his life for you, but you dumped anyway?” The moment the words flew out of her mouth, the irate spark in her eyes vanished only to be replaced by the blush of embarrassment blooming on Garcia’s plump cheeks. The analyst looked mortified by her outburst and clapped one hand quickly over her mouth. “I didn’t mean that. Don’t mind me. It’s just my big mouth,” the blonde uttered quickly. 

Garcia’s explanation sounded lame to the both of them and Reid chose to tamp down his own ire that threatened to rise in return. Instead, Reid took a deep breath and subsequently tried to exhale his stress as he answered carefully. “I didn't dump Morgan, neither is he petty, Penelope. He may not be happy that I’m going to take care of this for Ethan, but he would never demand that I not do something if I feel it’s the right thing to do.” Reid believed that. He did, but despite the firmness of the voice that spoke the words, his eyes could not quite meet Garcia’s. He loved Morgan and Morgan loved him but was that all there was to it? What if this is the straw that breaks the camel’s back? If Morgan had no previous experience with male romantic relationships, then Reid himself was even worse off having had zero experience with any real romantic long-term relationships. Morgan would ultimately respect his decision and not stand in his way, but what if Morgan decided that Reid simply wasn’t ready for a relationship and let him go -permanently? Reid’s inner voice -the same one that taunted him about the folly of believing that his particular HIV exposure experience would end happily with a final, negative test - now saw fit to remind him of that troublesome option to self-medicate away his rising stress. 

Reid was horrified. He hadn’t had thoughts like that for weeks and weeks and the idea that he would now even remotely entertain such a thought was beyond ludicrous to him. His exposure to Dilaudid had been blessedly brief in comparison to Ethan’s lengthy use of illegal drugs, but nonetheless, Reid had experienced a sufficient taste of what had enslaved his friend so thoroughly and he understood far better than his BAU colleagues what his actions had caused Ethan. Reid swallowed hard. Damn his HIV paranoia that had driven him to impose a break from his and Morgan’s relationship! Damn Ethan Stewart’s family for their hardline, homophobic stance against doing right by their own kin! Reid took a shuddering breath, and let it out slowly, not even noticing that Garcia was staring at him with an open, concerned expression. Desperate to distance himself from the treacherous temptation, his mind latched onto what he needed to do first. He needed to at least try and speak to Ethan's family to see if he could persuade them to take care of Ethan's body. Failing that, then he would make his arraignments and inform Morgan before anyone else in the BAU found out about his travel plans. As for Garcia, Reid trusted the woman to keep what she knew to herself. 

“Reid, sweetie, are you okay?” 

Reid heard Garcia’s urgent voice as if from a distance and he snapped his attention back to his friend. “I’m fine," he muttered. "Fine,” he repeated as if reinforcing the dubious reality. 

Garcia looked as though she wanted to argue, but abruptly she gasped as if in sudden realization of something. The analyst grabbed Reid lightly by the arm. “Reid, what about your symposium? The FBI Academy has had you planned as the featured lecturer for months now!”

Oh. Reid ran a hand through his hair and blew out a frustrated breath. Yes, there was that. Clearly, he would have to bow out, but there was nothing for it. He would be forced to rely on the compassion and common sense of SSA Hotchner to get him out of it, but no doubt, Hotchner, being the no-nonsense boss that he was, would leave it up to him to furnish another lecturer to take his place. Ironically, the one person Reid would have to ask was none other than Morgan since the older man had, on more than one occasion, co-lectured with Reid, making Morgan both experienced at lecturing, and very familiar with Reid’s teaching materials. “I’ll take care of it,” Reid finally answered. As if jolted by a surge of energy, Reid hurriedly excused himself, walking away from Garcia swiftly with long strides. 

 

*******

Morgan was staring in deep concentration at the data displayed on his computer monitor when, a shadow fell within the notice of his peripheral vision. He looked up and was startled to find himself looking into a pair of expressive, beautiful hazel eyes that had steadily avoided his own all day. Caught suddenly unaware by Reid’s sudden proximity, Morgan’s heart beat faster and his breath threatened to hitch in his throat, but he exerted a tremendous amount of control over himself and forced a placid expression on his face. After two days of nothing but the most perfunctory of exchanges, the young man appeared troubled and just a tad nervous. Morgan was instantly besieged by conflicting feelings of both concern for Reid and despair for whatever undesirable news was next coming. 

He highly doubted that, in light of Reid’s determined stance, the younger man was there to tell him that he now wanted to be together because he was finally able to deal with his extreme anxiety of HIV infection. Morgan eyed the slender man and forced a business-like tone to his voice when he asked, “Something I can help you with?”

“Yes,” Reid replied succinctly. Morgan observed Reid’s subtle visual check of the area in the direction of their female colleagues’ desks. Prentiss was absent from hers and Jareau appeared to be deep into a phone conversation. Still, Reid cleared his throat, with just a hint of nervousness tingeing the air. “Do you mind if we go somewhere else for a minute?”

_What?_. Morgan frowned as he felt disquiet rising, after all, it was Reid who had unilaterally established the new rules of their relationship, the number one being that all contact between them would be confined strictly to the professional context of work. _Now Reid wants to go off and have a tet-́a-tete?_. A moment of uncharitable churlishness set upon Morgan then which the seasoned agent regretted instantly, but was too late to halt its manifestation. He winced when he heard the words coming out of his mouth as if they had been wrung from him and not voluntarily spoken. “I don’t think so. Whatever you want to talk about you can do it here.”

Reid stared at Morgan for a moment, the expressive hazel eyes turning dark, yet giving nothing away. Finally, the young man blew out a breath and nodded his head. “I deserve that, don’t I?” he asked softly. “Okay. I need a favor. I recognize the fact that in a situation where one party in a relationship essentially unilaterally forced the other party into new terms governing their relationship, that party has no right to ask anything of the other - 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Morgan said sharply, instantly putting his hands up in the universal gesture to halt his lover’s rambling. Morgan’s grin was forced, yet still born from a place of deep affection. “What are you, some kind of lawyer? You need something, but you need to negotiate and calculate first?” Thiers was not and never would be a relationship based on keeping scores, or divvying up who was entitled to ask a favor of the other. Though he strongly disagreed with how Reid wanted to wait out the next three months, he would never make his younger lover feel as though he couldn’t ask a favor of him when clearly, Reid was in need of one. Morgan gentled his tone. “What do you need, Boo?”

For a moment, Reid's face lit in a smile at Morgan's term of affection, but the tentative smile quickly vanished. Reid's luminous eyes caught and held Morgan’s in a steady assessment of his own. “I have to go out of town and I just found out about it. I’m supposed to be one of the key lecturers at a symposium hosted at the FBI Academy and I need someone to take my place." Reid’s gaze appeared to shift down to the pile of folders on Morgan’s desk as if weighing the unreasonableness of his request against Morgan's apparent workload. “I would really appreciate it,” he added softly. 

There. Reid’s request was now out in the open and yet, it had only served to pique Morgan’s curiosity. Something wasn’t right. Morgan tried to keep his countenance from showing anything less than an agreeable expression, but his need to know where and why Reid was going propelled the next set of inquiries out of his mouth. A sudden worrisome thought occurred to Morgan then. Had something happened to Reid’s mother, out in Las Vegas? “Is your mother okay?”

Reid looked startled. “What?” Reid shook his head. “She’s fine. Just fine.” The young man sighed. “I wish I could just go and do what I have to do, and not have you know anything more, but that isn’t going to work, for us, is it?”

Morgan felt his stomach drop as though a weighted stone had been tossed in. “No,” he answered frankly. 

And waited.

“Right then,” the young man replied softly. “I just found out that Ethan Stewart’s body is still in the morgue because his family refuses to claim him. Once they learned of the circumstances behind his death, they completely turned their backs on him. They want nothing to do with bringing back the body of their once drug-addicted, mentally-ill - oh and let’s not forget what's really eating their lunch here - homosexual son, to Louisiana,” the disgust in Reid’s voice was undisguised. “They won’t bury their own son,” Reid chocked out. This time the sadness of incomprehension for such cold-heartedness made his voice shake slightly. He stood there, having said what he’d come to say. 

Now it was Reid’s turn to wait. 

He didn’t have long.

For a moment, Morgan sat in stunned silence. The older man just sat there, trying in vain to process, rationalize, empathize, by any means necessary, the fact that Spencer Reid was going to take the body of his rapist-turned stalker, and according to Reid, the potential cause of a future, untimely, slow and painful death from AIDS, to Louisiana for burial. Reid was planning to do all of this despite swearing to Morgan that he was done with New Orleans and everything and everyone that ill-fated trip had cost both of them. Now Reid was not only going to escort the body of the person who had turned their lives upside down, but there was no part of Morgan’s mind that did not intuitively recognize that Reid’s sense of responsibility extended to taking care of the burial expenses as well. 

He didn’t know what to say. Words temporarily deserted him in a red-tinged veil of simmering anger. He wanted to explode, but self-control and a healthy dose of love for his impossibly beautiful, genius lover held him in check. But even those things were not enough to keep him from hissing out a strained, “Why? For the love of God, why does it have to be you when you gave me your word that you would leave everything about New Orleans in the past?” 

“I promised you that before I knew that Ethan was in town, before I knew he was delusional about me and him, before I knew that he was sick, and that he..he..had raped me,” Reid said in his defense, still struggling to get the word out of what his once oldest friend had done to him. 

Morgan took a deep breath and tried and failed to expel his frustration in the exhale. “Let someone else do it. It doesn’t have to be you!” he growled. 

“Yes it does,” Reid answered firmly. “Morgan, there’s no one else.”

To Morgan’s ears, the words were uttered with so much surety and such infinite sadness that he was almost moved to reach out and draw the slender man close to his own body, but he was at war with conflicting emotions. Morgan perceived that, from Reid’s point of view, all that mattered was that his childhood friend was dead from both disease and ultimately, by his own hand. All Morgan saw though, when he closed his eyes, was the agony, fear and despair on Reid’s face after the young man had read Stewart’s suicide letter and confession of what Stewart had done to Reid in New Orleans. Anger and loathing rose anew in Morgan’s heart, and if Ethan were not currently a cold, dead corpse, lying on a slab, Morgan would have gladly rendered assistance to bring that state about.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year to all Criminal Minds fans!
> 
> It is still officially 31 December where I am, so I have met my goal of at least getting another chapter posted before year's end. So here we go with a new chapter. One more to go and we'll have reached the end of the tale. Just as promised, this story does have a beginning, a middle and an end. Morgan and Reid have been through the fire. Will they make it out the other side? We shall see. 
> 
> Not beta'd. Any mistakes are all mine.
> 
> http://Romanseartfanfic.com

NEW ORLEANS

 

All Saint’s Hope of Glory cemetery was situated just on the outskirts of New Orleans. As was typical of cemeteries in the area, row after row of closely-set white stone crypts and mausoleums gave the appearance of a quiet city rather than a place devoid of life. Some of the structures were old, some new, some elaborately carved, others less so, but all enshrined the decayed remains of those wealthy enough to afford them. In this city for the dead, marble statues kept faithful, silent watch over the uncomplaining residents while on this day, a light, cooling rain fell gently from the sky. The water that dripped from the faces of the stone angels made them appear as though they were weeping and who was to say that they were not?  
Suddenly the crunching sound of car tires traveling slowly over gravel disturbed the serene silence in the cemetery and a small caravan of three cars crested the hill where the main road wound its way through the heart of the cemetery. The vehicles made their way slowly down the narrow gravel road, following the twists and turns until at last the lead car came to a stop next to a parked, fourth car, a dark sedan, whose side door bore a small sign on with a local mortuary name and logo. All three cars parked behind the sedan, and shortly thereafter, people began emerging from the cars and the sound of car doors slamming seemed to echo loudly about the place. 

The seven people, six men and one woman, musician friends of Ethan Stewart, who had descended from the last two vehicles, did so with great deal of jostling each other like carefree frat house boys. As though oblivious to the solemnity of their surroundings, boisterous chatter and occasional bursts of laughter rang out as they went about their tasks, opening the car trunks, pulling out black music cases, and assembling various musical instruments. This jovial scene was markedly different from the one presented by the figure that had emerged from the lead caravan car. 

With a small sigh of quiet resignation, Spencer Reid got out of his rental car and opted to remain apart from the group, standing silently, having not yet brought out the urn containing Ethan’s ashes. Now that he was at the destination he had come so far to reach, he felt a momentary loss as to what to do. The young man stared blankly at the antics of the small group of Ethan’s musician friends, only one of whom Ethan had introduced to Reid when the profiler had accompanied Ethan to the Silhouette Club those many months ago. Reid had tracked the talented trumpeter down at the old jazz club and without revealing all of the details of what had happened, explained that Ethan Stewart had died and that his family had disowned him. The friend had been shocked and saddened and then had immediately offered to coordinate his own version of a burial parade as befitting a son of New Orleans – not through the public city streets though, but a short distance to the vault where the urn was to be placed. “Ethan will get a kick out of that,” the man had sworn, with tears in his eyes and the musical sound of ivory keys being expertly tickled the way Ethan used to do, sounding in his ears. And the razor-sharp mind of Spencer Reid that never managed to slow down or shut itself off internally raised the ugly question of why this man could know Ethan that well and yet not know that Ethan had been dying of AIDs and on top of that, sliding into mental insanity. 

Reid wisely kept silent counsel with himself and allowed his right hand, which had clenched painfully around the weaker left one underneath the oaken table, to unclench. 

Except for the intense feeling of being alone amongst people who knew each other well, this time and this place all felt rather surreal to Reid at the moment. He felt a happier memory intrude upon his consciousness and in his mind’s eye he saw himself back at that club with a healthy, vibrant, talented friend who was there for him in his hour of need just like Ethan had always been when they were children. . 

The happier recollections soured though when Reid’s thoughts took a more painful turn. Though unspoken, those darker thoughts were discernible upon the expressively somber face: Ethan should be here, among his circle of musician friends. Alive. ,He shouldn’t be dead with his body reduced to only fine ashes in a jar. The dreadful specter of what his childhood friend had become when last Reid laid eyes on him was not the image Reid wanted to hold fast in his mind. But the reality was that Ethan was dead and there was nothing Spencer Reid could do about it. There was little enough Reid could do to control his own anxiety about his uncertain fate. What he could do was focus on doing what he came to do instead. 

As if on cue, the laughter stopped and the strains of tuning musical notes ceased. The musicians assembled themselves in a more reverent funeral procession formation and waited expectantly. Reid reached into the car and brought out the urn when he saw an enormous older man with a full head of salt and pepper-colored hair and wearing a grey suit, come out from the black sedan and begin walking over to him with his hand outstretched. 

“Mr. Reid?” the man’s jovial voice boomed out in an accent bathed in the flavor of old Louisiana.

“Yes,” Reid affirmed and offered his hand to shake in return. “You must be Mr. Roberson. Thank you very much for all of your help.” 

Mr. Roberson’s smile looked painfully dignified as though unaccustomed to the restrained expressions his profession required. “It’s our pleasure to assist in this time of need. Are ya’ll ready to proceed? Just follow me and I’ll lead you to the vault.”

Reid looked down at the urn within his grasp as if to ascertain the deceased’s willingness. He looked over at the small gathering of Ethan’s friends holding their instruments in hand and for the first time, spoke to the assembled group. He cleared his throat and a quick tongue darted out to wet dry lips.\ “I uh…I just want to thank you all for coming out and doing this for Ethan. He was my friend…and yours, and I know he’d appreciate it.” Would he? He felt the flush of doubt creeping up and quickly turned back without waiting for a response. Ethan had died in such an inglorious fashion. Would he even want his friends knowing of his demise? Reid had deduced during the short time spent with Ethan in the man’s home that his childhood friend had grown into a man who had fully embraced New Orleans culture. This was the type of send-off his homophobic parents denied their son and thus the very reason Reid would do it. 

Reid started walking and Mr. Roberson fell in step before him to lead the way. From behind, the small band began to play a few bars of something slow and sad sounding. The over-cast sky complemented the somber music that played until abruptly, the dirge stopped and an outburst of joyous music burst forth. The celebratory tune rang out from the brass instruments and the drum kept time with a lively beat. Reid smiled then, a small expression of light in a darkened time. Thus, the little processional wound its way down the gravel road with its rows of granite crypts and stone angels on either side. It wasn’t long before the small group ended up in front of the vault, an economical, simple structure that housed individual storage places for cremated remains, arranged in rows. 

The music ceased and the friends of Ethan Stewart, plus Mr. Roberson from the family-run mortuary, gathered about. Reid stared for a moment at the urn in his grasp, knowing that this was the end of his task. He had done what he could to make amends for the devastating consequences his impromptu visit had wrought upon his friend. He had not helped his friend in this life when Ethan had needed it most, but now in death, Reid would make sure that the man he knew was not forgotten nor treated as so much garbage to be taken out and disposed of. 

Reid heard a cough somewhere behind him and knew someone was signaling a time to get on with the urn placement and a sprinkle of words. Reid gently placed Ethan’s urn inside the indicated compartment – bought and paid for by Spencer Reid. The quietly whispered words, “rest well” were ridiculously cliché, he knew. Ethan wasn’t resting and he certainly wasn’t well, Reid reminded himself. He had passed into oblivion and all that remained was a collection of molecules. 

Mr. Roberson looked expectantly at Reid. “Would you like to say a few words now, son?”

Hands bereft of the urn, Reid jammed them into his pants pockets and looked at the ground for a moment. Did he want to speak? Not particularly. The true things he wanted to say were not for anyone else’s ears, but he knew he had to say something. So he would. He had not written out some moving speech about hope, or tragedy of dying young, or what a great loss Ethan’s passing was to the music scene. When Reid spoke it was short and to the point. “You’re’ not forgotten. Those of us who knew you hold memories of you in our hearts.” He reached out and gently closed the door on the last view of Ethan Stewart’s urn. “And we always will.” 

There was an anticipatory silence as though the company waited for more to be said, but Reid had nothing further to add. Beyond the edges of the overhead shelter, the rain could be heard coming down in earnest now. Before the silence could stretch into awkwardness, the woman from the group offered a strong, “well said,” and with that, each musician covered their instrument as best they could and quckly made their way back to their vehicle, leaving Reid standing with Mr. Roberson. 

“Well. You have all of the paperwork. If you need anything else, please don’t hesitate to give us a call,” Mr. Roberson said as he stuck out his hand for a farewell shake. The man eyed the pouring sky but gamely produced an umbrella seemingly out of thin air. Then he was off, leaving Reid alone with lonely, morbid thoughts. 

Desire to leave this place filled Reid also. In fact, without even thinking about it, his body had already turned and walked two steps past the shelter and out into the rain before he stopped, suddenly powerless to walk any further. He wasn’t finished yet. The things of his heart that had been left unsaid were clamoring to be let out. Leave it. Why can’t you just leave it? Reid shook his head at the warring thoughts and slowly turned back around. No, he could not walk away without having said his peace. Ethan’s suicide note had been the last word but now Reid would take back the moment and claim the last word for himself. 

His gaze rested on the closed door with its brass plate inscribed with the name and dates of Ethan’s birth and death. Reid closed his eyes for a moment and he saw again the two of them as they had been as boys with Ethan so perfectly fulfilling the role of older brother. The vision changed from brother to lover in night of misdirected passion and changed again from lover to relapsed drug addict from thoughtless exposure in the same night. “I am sorry, Ethan,” Reid said softly. “I never meant to hurt you that night and I know you never meant to hurt me either. “That’s the best we can do because you never gave me a chance to help you. I would have, you know. Even after knowing that you r- …” Reid stammered around the word for what Ethan had done and continued, “what you’d done, I still would have helped you, because we were friends. Batman and Robin, remember?” he asked bitterly. 

Despite his resolve not to, a slow rolling tear wound its way down his cheek as he recalled a particularly painful incident of bullying from his youth. Reid’s breath hitched and his voice came out in a strained whisper as he recalled a particularly traumatic incident of bullying during his childhood. “I never thanked you for what you did to Harper Hillman. Yeah, I know what you did even though I never told you about how the football team put her up to luring me out to field and tying me up naked to a gold post. I don’t know how you found out about it, but your devious mind was all over that plot that got her and the football team captain expelled from school.” He paused then. “So thanks for that. I uh, I have to go now. I need to get back to my life with the man you met. His name is Derek Morgan and I’ve been such an idiot to the best thing that’s ever happened to me. The thing is…I may have ruined things. I may have trashed the one relationship in my life that I got right, and it all comes back to New Orleans.” An intense longing to see Derek hit Reid then. He wished that his beautiful lover could be with him right now. If he were, Reid knew he would throw his arms about the older man, kiss and hug him and tell him how much he loved and missed him. And that’s exactly what I will do. Reid looked long and hard at the brass plate. “I don’t think I’ll be coming back here anymore. This isn’t you anyway.” He stepped back then and his rain-slicked hair plastered itself to his skull. He walked away with a determined stride, not looking back to the past, but forward to his uncertain future. 

 

*******

DULLES INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT

 

The last wave of passengers disembarked from the connecting flight that had departed New Orleans and landed in Dallas, Texas before reaching Virginia. Tired, hungry and running on empty, Reid was among the last group of passenger to shuffle off the plane. He was somewhat stiff from the flight. His tall, lanky frame had had plenty of room within the seat, but the too small leg space afforded a passenger with limbs as long as his did nothing to ensure comfort. 

He walked out of the secured area and into the arrival terminal, past the happy scenes of loved ones being greeted with hugs and other displays of affection without really paying attention to them. Travelers rushed by him, anxious to get to the baggage claiming area. A mother holding a wiggling toddler jostled him. He was pressed on every side by a throng of people anxious to get anywhere but there. Suddenly, he sensed someone walking next to him. He looked up in startled surprise and his mouth transformed instantly from a travel-weary grimace to one of radiant joy. Derek!

The tall, fit figure of Derek Morgan appeared at Reid’s side, an uncertain smile hiding behind warm brown, assessing eyes. A split-second pang of guilt ran through Reid at the sight. Was it possible that Derek doubted the welcomeness of his appearance because of Reid’s actions? Reid put all doubts to rest when he practically leaped into the other man’s arms. Reid wrapped his arms around the shapely torso and held on tight. “I’m so happy to see you, Derek” he whispered fervently into Derek’s ear. “Please forgive me for making a mess out of things.” 

Morgan gently, but firmly took Reid by the shoulders so that he could look into the beautifully sculptured face with the large, expressive hazel eyes. Without regard to the range of stares from the people bustling around them from the simply curious to the hostile, Morgan’s lips captured those of his lover in a tender kiss that bespoke of forgiveness, affection and longing. Reid eagerly returned the sentiment and he smiled through the sudden sting of moisture in his eyes. “There’s nothing to forgive,” Morgan replied. Reid felt his heart swell with great relief at the ease in which Morgan had dismissed the hurtful mistake and joy at sweet restoration. Morgan gently lifted the travel bag from Reid’s shoulder and transferred it to his own. His free arm he slung over Reid’s shoulders, drawing the slender body close. Morgan graced Reid with a radiant smile “Come on. I’ll drive you home.” 

 

*******

Reid unlocked the front door to the brownstone and he and Morgan proceeded inside. They had not talked much on the way home from Dulles, but the silence was a companionable one helped along by the drowsy state in which Reid found himself succumbing. Now that he was home all he wanted to do was rid himself of the vestiges of travel to New Orleans and make sure that he and Morgan were alright. “I could do with something to drink, what about you?” Reid asked. 

“I wouldn’t mind some cold juice if you’ve got it,” Morgan replied from where he’d taken a seat on Reid’s couch.

Reid brought his lover a glass of pomegranate juice and a glass of ice tea for himself. Then he informed Morgan that he was going to take a quick shower and change. True to his word, Reid appeared in the living room 15 minutes later, clad in fresh clothes and towel-drying his damp hair. 

The two men looked at each other before Reid came over and quietly sat down next to Morgan. Suddenly, Reid felt self-conscious and he began examining the glass of ice tea with rapt attention. He wanted to get the conversation started, but didn’t know how to proceed. 

Morgan beat him to it. “How did it go?” the older man asked. 

“Fine.” Reid nodded his head as if confirming the facts to himself. “I’m glad I took care of things. I asked a small group of Ethan’s musician friends to play. Did you know that New Oleans jazz funerals have their roots in Africa?”

Morgan raised an eyebrow. “No, I didn’t know that.”

“It’s true.” Reid took a sip of his tea. “Around four centuries ago, the Dahomeans of Benin and the Yoruba of Nigeria, West Africa had celebratory death practices that later served as the foundation for what eventually developed into the modern New Orleans jazz funeral." 

“And you arraigned that from here?” Morgan asked with a touch of admiration.

“Some here, most when I got there,” Reid answered recalling again his return visit to the Silhouette Club in search of Ethan’s friends. He leaned back in the couch, shoulder to shoulder with the older man. 

A small silence fell then. “Hey,” Morgan broke it. “I may not agree that it was your responsibility to take care of Stewart’s funeral arraignments after what the man did to you, but I respect that it was your decision to make.” Morgan stopped and caught Reid’s gaze within his own before adding, “and if it brought you any sense of closer than I’m glad.”

“Me too,” Reid said, and a small smile lifted the corner of his mouth. 

“And what about…,” Morgan’s sweeping hand gesture was meant to include the two of them and their current status..

Reid sighed and laid his head on Morgan’s shoulder. “I am so sorry about how I treated you,” Reid replied. He knew he’d hurt Derek by his fervent insistence that they stay away from each other for the waiting period when Reid would take a final HIV test. He had refused the right of Morgan, as his lover, to stand by his side, to be there for one another as they had promised. He had let irrational fear dictate his actions that even now, he still could not entirely dismiss. The only cure he knew, was to talk things over with his lover and this he vowed he would do. 

“I know that my fear is irrational. I do.”

“You don’t have to explain it to me, Sweetheart. You did that already, remember?” Morgan interrupted gently. 

Reid sighed. “I know I did, but I’m just not sure I did a good job in explaining something so irrational.” 

Morgan squeezed Reid’s hand affectionately. “But you feel a need to try again.” It was a statement of resigned fact, not a question.

“A burning need,” Reid answered, trying for a lighter tone. 

“Ok.’’ Reid squeezed back the hand holding his. “It’s just, all my life I’ve longed to know what ‘normal’ is and every time - every single time, I’d get a taste, something would happen to remind me that normal wasn’t for me. And believe me, Derek when I tell you that Life wasn’t a very nice teacher.” He shrugged. I’ve just learned that the ‘normal’ state of being for me is whatever the opposite of what normal is for most people. In my experience, love, stable relationships, mental health, that’s for everybody else.” He looked earnestly into Morgan’s handsome face from beneath damp hair loosely hanging down his forehead. “And then you came along. You’re my brass ring and Life is daring me to reach for it and keep it, and so afraid…I’m so afraid it’s just out of reach and I’m gonna fall trying to get it.”

Morgan pulled Reid over and kissed him tenderly but chastely on the lips. Then senior profiler smiled his trademark-winning grin. “That would have been sound analysis, Mr. Genius, except for the flaw you overlooked.”

Reid’s face crinkled with a frown across his brow. “What flaw?” he demanded.

Morgan shook his head in amusement without malice and drew him close again to speak lowly in his ear. “You’ve already caught the brass ring. It’s yours. You have the same guarantee of happiness in life as anybody else. That’s what being in a relationship is about – agreeing to take the good with the bad and helping each other through it.”

There on the couch, encircled in the strength and surety of the arms about him, Reid saw clearly the fault in his analysis. He had of course, glimpsed a version of it before, and having held it no less true than before, he made up his mind to ensure that never again would he let fear rule his actions. He stilled preferred they wait to have sexual intercourse until final HIV clear status was established, but in the meantime, there would be no more cruel and artificial separation.

Reid said as much and afterwards, when there was nothing more that need be said, the two fell asleep on the couch, each man too reluctant to leave the embrace of the other until the first rays of dawn came out to beckon the two back to wakefulness. 

 

*******

Time passed in the usual manner. Hours turned into days and days to weeks until at last, two and half months of criminal case work, passed, along with the seemingly endless waiting for the time for Reid’s next HIV test. 

The members of the BAU worked as a team on cases, and in addition, each member had individual work to do. Reid had lent telephone assistance to an out-of-state case that led to a significant lead for the local police in that distant jurisdiction that would eventually lead to the capture of a particularly disturbed UNSUB. Closer to home however, closure for the groper case still alluded the team. 

Thus far, women of various races and ages had been attacked at random so that aspect of victimology had yielded no particular solid insight into the UNSUB’s identification. Still, all of the attacks had all occurred in areas where a large portion of the population living and working in the area were Latino. Given the fact that the UNSUB appeared to make his getaway on foot, coupled with unusually long, but regular periods of dormancy between attacks, the profilers were prompted to consider the possibility that their UNSUB was an undocumented worker who was able to periodically move from all the way on the east coast in Virginia, to his country of origin. The last new piece of information obtained had been the one given them by the UNSUB’s last victim who had reported an overwhelming animal smell emanating from the groper. 

Armed with the names and locations of every pet store and animal hospital in Fairfax County area, the police had canvassed them all in hopes of catching the right break that would lead them to the UNSUB, but so far, there was frustratingly, nothing new. The clock was running down for the nervous public for when the UNSUB would strike again. Every day the BAU members expected to hear the news of an escalated attack upon an unsuspecting female. 

Still, nothing happened. Until one day it did. 

TBC


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For interested readers: The story is at long last finished. It took exactly 50 pages to conclude the story. Based both on posting length restrictions and some reader feedback, I've chopped it up into three chapters, I believe. That's still longer than many care to read so I'll give it a few days between postings.
> 
> Not beta'd. All mistakes are mine.

It was a typical day at the National Zoo for sixty-two year old Donald Jordon, a worker at the National Zoo since 1979. The temperature was hot, the air humid and the ever-present aroma of animals and feed perfumed the air. For Donald, the work day started early and ended late, even when technically, he was off the clock because he took his responsibilities as Senior Zookeeper seriously. As such, he knew his staff well and the animals in the zoo better. Hands down it was the animals he had no difficulty in understanding. The same could not be said of the people he had come to supervise and had seen come and go, particularly in the last ten years. 

Day after day, year after year he’d paid his dues and worked himself up from being the lowest man on the totem pole, doing every low-paying, menial, dirty job imaginable until he had ultimately been exalted to his current job as Head, Zookeeper with responsibilities for animals and human subordinates alike. He’d shoveled it all and seen it all, but on this day, he really thought he’d had about enough - not of the animals, of people. 

Generally, he liked people. He really did. He had supervised and mentored many an individual in his department over the years but nowadays, it was hard to get people who shared his work ethic. He just didn’t understand these young people who honestly thought they were owed a paycheck just for the favor of showing up. It seemed that the only workers who understood the concept of a day’s work for a day’s pay were old timers like himself. The other who sprang immediately to mind was both the person whom he sought out as well as one of his top subordinates. This man, Carlos Rodriguez, Donald thought, when compared to him, was positively ancient but he’d been a hardworking, honest employee from the get go ever since arriving in the United States from El Salvador back in 1981. 

Donald’s mouth turned down at the thought of old Carlos and the task which brought him out to the employee locker room. He had no beef with old Carlos. It was his son, Carlos Rodriguez Jr, who apparently had inherited his old man’s name and nothing else, that Donald had a problem with. 

Donald repeatedly leaned on the horn of his motorized cart while simultaneously nudging the utility vehicle forward through the crowd of teens seemingly bent on impeding his passage forward by ignoring him. “These damn kids.” Donald grumbled under his breath as he continued to nudge his way through the unyielding group of teens. A final sustained blast of his horn earned him the finger from one of the teens, but it got Donald what he wanted: the group parted and he hit the accelerator and sped through. 

Eight minutes later, he was parking the cart at the building housing the employee break room and locker/shower facilities. He cut the engine, disembarked and walked to the door. Once inside he found exactly the man he was looking for. Carlos Rodriguez was ending his shift and as most employees did, he’d showered and changed out of his soiled, smelly work coveralls back into his own simple shirt and pants. He was seated on a bench in front of his open locker, putting on his shoes when Donald approached him. “Carlos,” he said by way of a simple greeting.

Carlos, being the old fashioned sort, rose to his feet to greet his boss, one shoe on and one shoe off. Donald shook his head at the man, indicating the other should keep dressing and tried not to look uncomfortable. Donald respected Carlos. The man had earned it by maintaining a strong work ethic. Carlos was older than Donald, and Donald was his supervisor, but Donald didn’t cotton to a lot of cow-towing on the older man's part. That was why he didn’t relish what he’d come to do. It was a bit of an awkward situation because Donald had done something he should not have done, both to help out the zoo, and as a favor to Carlos. 

Donald knew deep down that he never, ever should have let Carlos Jr. work here and pay him under the table, but he’d had after Carlos had told him about some bureaucratic snafu with the boy’s visa paperwork and his dire need for work. While Donald was old fashioned about his work ethic, he wasn’t particularly a slave to rules and regulations he didn’t understand. If a man wanted to eat, he needed to work, and if he worked hard, that was all that counted to Donald. The elder Carlos was as close a friend as two individuals who came from different cultures and worked together could be, and that had been the driving motivation for Donald skirting the employment process and allowing the son to work for him. 

But now he would have to undo his decision and to boot, he may very well be demoted or even fired for what he’d done. Donald sighed unhappily. 

“Do you need something?” Carlos’ queried, in a voice perpetually accented with the Spanish of his native tongue. 

Donald wiped a strong, weathered hand through thinning hair. Then he sat down next to the older man so he wouldn’t be looming over him. “Yeah,” he said. “Where is your son?” he asked, looking around as if expecting to see Carlos, the younger, appear.

The pleasant, open expression on Carlos’s own weathered face shifted almost imperceptibly. The older man’s eyes shifted down to the right before coming back to Donald’s face. “My son received news that his mother back in El Salvador is ill. He has gone to be with her. Please forgive me for not telling you about this earlier” He shrugged, “I told you nothing because you were home sick last week and I have barely seen you these last three days since we are working like dogs on the new project.” 

Donald said nothing for a moment. “Oh,”he finally said. “this seems to be a regular occurrence. I’m sorry the boy’s mother is ill.”

“He will return,” Carlos was quick to reassure.

“No. No, he won’t,” Donald replied. Carlos’ eyes went wide with surprise and puzzlement. 

“He can’t,” Donald clarified. “HR knows now that I hired and paid him under the table to work here as a favor to you. It’s bad enough they found out, but how they found out ain’t good either.” He looked grimly at Carlos. “They could fire me for this, do you understand?” 

Carlos looked distressed. “What happened?”

“I dunno exactly. All I’ve been told is that last month a group of young women came to the zoo and there was an incident. They made some comments on that Facebook thing about what happened and some higher-up read about it."

Carlos’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, ‘incident’? What has that to do with my son?” 

Donald flushed miserably. He hated this. Hated the prospect of hinting at some kind of dishonor to the older man, but truth be told, even without the stain of the troublesome incident that had come to Donald’s attention, Carlos’ son simply had not worked out over the long haul. In the beginning of the young man’s clandestine employment things had been fine because the young man had been under the direct supervision of his father, Carlos Sr.. The arrangement, though technically wrong, had been beneficial because necessary work was getting done in the face of a hiring freeze that had made things difficult for so long. The trouble had come when the boy wasn’t working directly under his father’s supervision. Then the boy’s true work ethic had emerged and that had included complete lack of initiative and lack of attention to detail. Later there came a time when young Carlos would suddenly leave the country - ostensibly to care for an ill mother. Donald had initially been sympathetic and Carlos had returned as promised. It had not been an ideal situation, but when paired with his father, young Carlos seemed to work fine. 

Now here they were with a missing ‘employee’ and a perplexing, disturbing Facebook entry about same. Donald’s mind flashed over the early afternoon’s events when he’d received a summons to report to the Human Resources Office. He’d gone over, curious, but not really worried. Donald had been informed that a group of young women who had visited the zoo had complained that they had encountered a ‘creepy’ Hispanic appearing male employee who had repeatedly popped up at odd times and places, staring at them in a manner like that of a sexual predator. One of the women, was so disturbed that after a time, she had approached the man and instead of explaining himself, he had turned and disappeared into the crowd in a hasty manner. It was purely by coincidence that the post had been discovered by an administrator working in the HR Office. The administrator was concerned and responded to the post with a request for more information from the young women. 

Two of the young women had come in to talk with the zoo official and one had produced a cellphone photo that held pictures from that day at the zoo. It had taken nearly a minute of scrolling through seemingly endless pictures of grinning, silly ‘selfies’ before a picture yielding the image of the man came up amongst the photos of animals and interesting plants. 

And that’s when things had gotten interesting.

There were only so many employees who wore similar grounds and animal caregiver uniforms. The personnel files of all of the workers had been pulled, regardless of whether or not they were personally known to the HRO staff. The photo had been compared to the photos in each employee file and shown to the two women.. Curiously, no match was found and the women had been sent home with deepest apologies and a vow to beef up security. 

That might very well have been the end of it because that very same week when the two young women had come to the HR office, Donald had taken ill with a severe stomach bug and had been out for the majority of the week. Donald was the glue that held his department together and in his absence, things tended to not run as well although the elder Carlos Rodriquez was as dedicated and hardworking as ever, regardless of his boss’s absence. His illness past him, Donald had been back a full three days before receiving the call to come to HR. 

“Mr. Jordon,” Barbara Anderson had asked after rightly inquiring after the health of one of the zoos most valuable employees, “these young women have a photo of someone wearing one of our uniforms, but we cannot find an employee file with a photo that matches his description. Have you ever seen this man before?”

Donald recalled with clarity his surprised dismay when he was shown a photo of the profile of Carlos Rodríguez Jr.. He’d had no choice but to admit that not only did he recognize the man, but how he knew him. And that was how the whole sordid tale of how Donald had skirted the formal hiring process and allowed the young man to work at the zoo and be paid under the table, subsequently, Donald Jordon, longtime trusted employee had been introduced to the phrase, “no good deed goes unpunished”, 

He knew he was in trouble over the circumstances of Carlos Jr’s employment, but the other thing…well, as far as Donald could tell, the other matter was unmitigated B.S.. In all the time Donald had known the younger man, he’d not once acted in an inappropriate manner towards any guest. Carlos was no pervert. Donald may not be a learned man, but, by god he had watched Law and Order SVU from the very beginning. If Carlos was like that he’d know it. Surely those young women were just out to have some fun at someone else’s expense. That’s how young people operated these days, expecting everything to be handed to them, bored when not otherwise being entertained…

Donald brought himself out of his remembrances of earlier. He felt bad for Carlos Rodriguez Sr.. His son would eventually return to the U.S. but certainly only to find that he had lost his job. Carlos was looking at him with pained, honest eyes that had seen much in his lifetime. Donald knew that Carlos deserved to know the entire truth about his son and so the senior zookeeper commenced telling the man about the exact nature of the Facebook post and what had passed between himself and the HR staff. 

“They ordered me to personally ensure that Carlos’ locker is cleared out. I’m sorry I can’t do anything to help, but my own neck is somewhat in the noose because of this,” Donald said bitterly. 

Carlos appeared resigned. “I am sorry for the trouble this has caused. Whatever those girls say, my son did nothing wrong.” He looked over at the locker belonging to his son. It was secured with a combination padlock. “I do not know the combination to my son’s locker”. 

“Don’t need it,” Donald said gruffly. “I’ll call Peters over from maintenance and he can cut it off with bolt cutters.” Donald reached for his radio and summoned Peters who, having narrowly missed clocking out for the day, grumbled and made his way to the locker room with his bolt cutters instead.

Donald and Carlos waited for Peters to arrive in contemplative silence. Donald sighed softly. Hell of a day. Hell of a thing to happen. Donald didn’t normally socialize with people he worked with, but he certainly had compassion for someone he knew and respected. He knew he was feeling bad about the black mark on his own record for what he had done, and he could only imagine how the elder Carlos was feeling. Much worse, he guessed. Those were the thoughts going through Donald Jordon’s mind when he uncharacteristically asked Carlos if he wanted to have a drink with him at a nearby bar. 

“Yes.” Carlos nodded his head. “Yes, I think a drink would be good right now. My Papi always told me that it’s never good to drink alone.”

Just then, Peters, a burly African American man from the Maintenance Department arrived, bolt cutters in hand. “Which one?” he asked, looking eager to get the job done so he could get the hell on home.

“This one,” Carlos arose from the bench and walked over to his son’s locker.”

“Ok, no problem.” Peters expertly placed the bolt cutters to the lock and cut if off with one snap of the tool. “There you go. Anything else?”

“Naw. Thanks,” Donald replied.

Carlos opened the door to the locker and immediately, a nearly overpowering stench of funky unwashed work clothes assailed their nostrils. Donald backed up and Carlos waved a gnarled hand in front of his face. “Damn, Carlos. Your boy is a pig!” Donald declared disapprovingly. Instead of a clean, sparsely-filled space like his father’s locker, the son’s was crowded with several pieces of dirty clothing items; uniforms and civilian jackets, work boots, an old backpack, a boombox and several CD’s, a shoe box and miscellaneous trash all crammed into a space too small. 

Carlos stared at the mess for a moment and then shook his head with a slightly embarrassed expression on his face. “This will be hard to carry on the bus,” he said. “There is an empty box in tool shed number one. I’ll go and borrow it and return it tomorrow.”

“Sure. You better hurry and catch Peters while he’s returning the bolt cutters otherwise you’ll likely find it locked,” Donald replied.

“Ok,” Carlos replied agreeably. “Might as well take the uniforms out,” he called over his shoulder as he wasted no more time in hurrying out the door, leaving Donald alone in the locker room. 

Donald scratched his head as he reached into the locker to remove a pair of work coveralls. What a mess. He was pulling out the pair of work-issued boots when the bottom of one snagged a cardboard box, pulling the box up and out of the locker. The box fell to the ground and the lid came off, discarding the contents on to the ground. They appeared to be piles of newspaper clippings. “Great,” Donald groused as he bent over to pick up the scraps of paper. He was collecting the errant pieces when the title of one caught his eye. “Is there a Serial Groper in FairFax County?” the article read. Curious, Donald read the article. Of course he had heard something about a crazy man running around the Springfield area, grabbing women’s breasts and buttocks - he didn’t live under a rock even though he rarely watched the news on TV since he usually got home after 7:00 pm and at his age he liked to go to bed early. Even rarer still was the occasional reading of a newspaper. Nothing but bad news, he had long ago deemed. Donald stopped to look at the other article clippings. What the hell? 

This was strange. One by one, he turned the articles over in his hand and saw that each and every one had to do with various attacks attributed to the same man. Donald read about the attacks and the community living in fear and terror. He read about the frustration of the Fairfax County police and how this man continued to elude them despite their best efforts to capture him. The one article even went so far to explain how the police had called upon the F.B.I for their assistance in the case. Someone named Supervisory Special Agent Hotchner was mentioned and his contact information listed. Low-level alarm bells were starting to go off in Donald’s mind. Hadn’t he seen something on Law and Order about how serial killers and rapists liked to keep souvenirs or collect articles about their crimes? 

And then his hand pulled out the article that would rock his world but good. It was the very first article containing a black and white police sketch of the suspect. Donald’s heart seemed to leap in his chest and his hands holding the paper trembled slightly with disbelief at his discovery. Wide set eyes, scowling lips, a knit hat pulled down to thick brows. This was Carlos Jr! Donald would recognize the man anywhere. “Sweet Jesus Mary and Joseph!” Donald explained under his breath. What had the boy done? What had he done in giving the boy a job all this time? 

Donald heard the sound of someone entering the locker room and for the second time that day, his heart began to pound faster. His face broke out in a sweat. Presumably that someone who was entering the room would be Carlos Rodriguez Sr.. Donald hastily shoved the article with the sketch and the F.B.I. contact information into his pocket. Then he placed the box with the lid on it, back into the locker and plastered his best nonchalant expression on his face. 

Carlos had indeed returned, bearing a cardboard box large enough for him to pack out his son’s locker. Carlos came over and commenced placing the items in the box. If he noticed that Donald was unusually quiet, he did not remark on it. In truth, Carlos thoughts were on his son and how much the boy had brought trouble into his life, starting from when he was just 13-years old. 

Finally the two stood before an empty locker. Donald shuffled uncomfortably. He was thinking about begging off from the promised drink at a bar, but on second thought, he was burning to find out more information. If Carlos’s son really was the serial groper, then this might be the last time in quite some while that the loyal employee would get to say he had enjoyed a relaxing time out with a friend before his world went to hell. Yeah, he would go to the bar with the older man. 

After that, he’d be making a phone call in the morning. 

*******

At 8:00 am, another work day at the BAU was well underway. In her private office where Penelope Garcia reigned supreme, the blond analyst sat in front of her high-tech computer. She’d stayed up late the night before, enthralled by an old Cary Grant film she’d caught channel-surfing before bed and now she was paying for it. The wake-up cup of coffee she’d imbibed had failed to do its job and the lack of any more real leads in the groper case was not helping. Frustrated, the analyst huffed out a breath of air and leaned back in her chair. She pushed a curled lock of hair back behind her ear and pulled out the well-gnawed pencil she had, without conscious thought, stuck between her teeth, and tossed it down on her desk. In the months since the geographical profile had suggested the serial groper lived somewhere in the Monticello Forest neighborhood of Springfield, there had been no more attacks. No credible leads had surfaced after the Fairfax police had circulated police sketches of the UNSUB and the UNSUB had not struck again.  
It was possible that the UNSUB had been incarcerated for some other offense, yet no one matching his description had been identified as a recent arrestee. Garcia was beginning to wonder if perhaps the UNSUB did not in fact live in the geographic area identified. She wasn’t a profiler. She knew is she was thinking that, her teammates, the real profilers, were too. 

Garcia’s gaze perused the information on the monitor for what seemed like the thousandth time. She scrolled through the numerous reports generated on known sexual offenders living in the area, but not one had a record of behavior that fit the M.O. of the groper. “C’mon my pervy friend you, you aren’t that smart, and certainly not smarter than me,” the analyst muttered cheekily under her breath. Certainly that was true. Even the brilliance of Doctor Spencer Reid could not keep up with Garcia’s amazing ability to extract information from any computer, but at the moment the brilliant Garcia was not in need of brains to outsmart the UNSUB. What she needed luck and she was about to receive it. 

********

JJ picked up her ringing phone. “Agent Jareau, here.” The young woman cradled the phone’s receiver between her shoulder and neck while she continued to wade through the stack of case files seeking BAU involvement. What she heard on the other end of the line made her suddenly cease her multi-tasking. “Really?” She asked, then paused and listened some more. “Sure, let me just tell my boss what’s going on and then I’ll be right there,” she replied when the person speaking to her finished. Jareau quietly hung up the phone, then she looked over at her teammates who were all engrossed in their own work. Good. They hadn’t noticed anything so there was no need to get their hopes up. She stood up and casually made her way into Hotchner’s office. 

Her presence had been requested in one of the interview rooms. Jarreau’s mind raced with possibilities. Was there really an individual who knew the identity of the serial groper sitting downstairs at this very moment? She’d been asked to do a preliminary interview to ascertain his credibility before he was sent up to the BAU. It wasn’t often that witnesses showed up at the BAU wanting to speak to an agent. 

Jareau walked into Hotchner’s office. 

******

Forty-Five minutes later Morgan, Reid, Garcia, and Prentiss were assembled in their accustomed places around the conference room table. Morgan sat across from Reid and mouthed the word, “What?” to which Reid shrugged his shoulders slightly. Neither agent knew why Hotchner, looking as pleased as his normally inscrutable expression would allow, had summoned the team to the conference room. 

A minute later, Jareau, Gideon and Hotchner walked in and they too, took their places around the table. 

Garcia eyed Hotchner. “He looks happy,” the perceptive Garcia whispered to Morgan. 

“He was almost smiling,” Morgan agreed and waited for further illumination. 

Hotchner spoke, “First, I’d like thank you all for your work on the serial groper case. It’s been a frustrating one for the law enforcement community, and a break has been a long time in coming.” Hotchner looked over at Gideon, who nodded his head ever so slightly. “We think we’ve gotten our first major break.”

Gideon, glasses perched half-way down his nose, chimed in, “We believe we have have an individual who knows the identity of the serial groper.”

“This morning a man named Donald Jordon called the tip line and said he had information that he wanted to share about the groper, but that he wanted to do it in person,” JJ said as she took up the story. “He actually did come in and after I conducted a preliminary interview, I thought him very credible. I turned him over to Gideon for a more thorough interview.”

The UNSUB is mostly likely a man from El Salvador named Carlos Rodiguez Jr, who up until yesterday, was worked at the National Zoo in D.C. in some sort of unofficial capacity,” said Gideon.

The National Zoo? This development took the team by surprise and all around the table, expressive faces showed varying degrees of reaction in response to the time and effort the local police had wasted in incorrectly looking for the UNSUB in an ever-widening ring of pet stores around the area of where the attacks had occurred. Morgan, who had become quite expert at reading his lover’s subtle expressions observed that Reid had looked momentarily, mildly dismayed at having overlooked the National Zoo. 

Prentiss shrugged it off pragmatically. “We need to tweak the profile. It happens.” She sat back in her seat and mused aloud. “So, clearly that means the UNSUB doesn’t live in the area of the attacks and walk to work.”

“My money’s on the UNSUB living in D.C. and having someone close he visits in Springfield, most likely his father,” Morgan proffered.

Garcia tapped her fingers on the table excitedly, “Excuse me, but does this Donald person say where Carlos lives?”

Hotchner turned his laser-gaze upon the exuberant analyst. He ignored the impropriety of the her outburst and settled on answering the question she, and everyone else, wanted to know: “Mr. Jordon’s knowledge is limited, but when the son first came to the U.S. he lived with his father somewhere in Springfield, but he doesn’t know the exact address, and he thinks the son no longer lives there. Mr. Jordon and Mr. Rodriguez have been longtime employees of the National Zoo. Apparently, the son worked there off and on over the last few years in a ‘informal’ capacity.” Hotchner made air quotation marks with his fingers. “Mr. Jordon didn’t point to anything specific, but his written statement he wrote that he believed that the son’s periodic, long absences are due to the suspect returning to El Salvador to tend to an ailing mother.” 

“Considering that he’s traveling all the way from the East Coast of the United States to South America, that’s a long way to travel repeatedly when one has to take elaborate measures moving illegally between countries,” Reid fired off. 

“It’s his mom," JJ replied in a gentle tone that implied that the too-smart Reid had said something lacking in sufficient understanding of human interaction. 

Heedless of the implied rebuke, Reid, eyes bright, leaned forward to expound on his point. “Yes, but given the nature of the crimes, the UNSUB exhibits hatred for women and a need to temporarily exhort dominance over them. The UNSUB may feel as though he’s taking back his power in a world where he still feels dominated by a particularly abusive woman. What if that woman has such a hold on him that she has the power to summon him to her side, all the way from another country?”

“We need to interview the father. He may be totally unaware of what his son’s been doing,” Morgan said.

“Or he just might have the best insight into his son’s behavior,” Prentiss nodded her head in agreement.

“It’s risky,” Reid noted. “Once the father’s tipped off, he may warn his son not to return.”

“Possibly,” Gideon agreed, “but this man has been operating under compulsion for quite some time now. He’s gotten comfortable with his hunting ground and the need to return to it may be stronger than any possible grip his mother may have on him.”

Gideon’s was the voice of experience, but still, the son permanently disappearing presented a significant dilemma and they all knew it. The suspect was out of the country and the closest source of information about him was the man’s own father. There was no way of knowing the strength of the ties that bound father and son without having first interviewed the father, but in doing so, there would be no way of preventing the father from warning off his son afterwards. 

Hotchner addressed Garcia, “Get me the address for where the father lives and then search INS records and tell me what you find.”

“Coming up,” Garcia immediately responded with a nod.

“Morgan, you and Reid will go interview Carlos Rodriguez Sr, tonight when he’s mostly likely going to be home after work,” Hotchner directed. “JJ, notify the Fairfax County police let them know of our plans to attempt an interview with Mr. Rodriguez. Coordinate with them on the time. Prentiss, we’ll need a search warrant for the locker and possibly the senior Rodriguez’s residence.”

Heads nodded in acknowledgement and Morgan glanced Reid’s way to gauge a reaction. Reid’s eyes met Morgan’s and the younger man nodded his head ever so slightly. Yes, It was going to be a long, but professionally satisfying day if it ended with the groper case being solved, even sans an immediate arrest.

TBC


	33. Chapter 33

*******

Fifteen minutes had passed since the meeting concluded. Morgan and Reid went down to Garcia’s office to find out what the tenacious analyst had undoubtedly, already uncovered. When the two men arrived, they found Garcia at her desk, hand reaching towards her phone set. She stopped, turned in her chair and seeing the men standing in the doorway, grinned broadly. “Hmm… We are definitely operating on the same super-sleuth wavelength, dear friends. I don’t have much, but I’ve got some news for you.” 

Morgan grinned back and slapped both hands together as he and Reid walked in to stand by the seated Garcia. “Whatcha got for us, Babygirl?” 

Garcia’s eyes, behind her large-framed spectacles looked enormous and bright. “An inter-continental mystery with shades of tragedy,” came Garcia’s rapid-fire response. The blond whipped back around to face her computer and her fingers flew over the keyboard as she began opening up various windows on her monitor. “In 1971 Carlos Rodriguez married his longtime sweetheart, Ana Guzman and that same year he opened a landscaping business. By 1983 the Rodriguez family, consisted of husband Carlos, wife Ana, 7 year- old Carlos Jr, and 5 year-old Juanita. Tragically, one night there was fire and the family home burned down while the family was inside.” Garcia’s lips pursed before she turned large, regretful eyes towards the two men. “The mother was burned and the little sister didn’t escape the fire and later died in the hospital she was flown to in San Salvador. Three years after that the Rodriquez family business went under and that’s when Mr. Rodriguez began the long, bureaucratic process to bring the rest of his family to the U.S. from El Salvador in what is known as the ‘immigration lottery’. 

“Did he get it?” Reid asked, leaning closer to peer at Garcia’s monitor. 

Garcia shook her head in the negative. “Alas, no, not a winner that year, or the next, or the year after that. But…” Garcia held up one well-manicured finger, “you know what they say, ‘ya gotta be in it to win it.”

“Meaning he eventually got it, but when?” Morgan prompted.

“Meaning finally, in 1989, their lotto number came up!” Garcia grinned as if the triumph in getting a winning number were her own. 

“So the family moved here when the boy would have been 13-years old. At the least, there should be some school records for us to find out more about him,” Reid mused, his lean body shifting forward slightly.

“It would take me a while and some sudden expertise in Spanish that, despite my last name being Garcia, I sadly do not have,” Garcia replied. Her fingers clicked on the mouse and one open window enlarged and came to the fore. 

 

“You said something about a mystery. What’s that about?” Morgan asked.

“Good question, Jeopardy players.” Garcia chirped, and without waiting for a response, she added,  
“Mr. Rodriguez came to the states and he left his wife and his son of only 13 behind. The INS records show that Mr. Rodriguez was actually the only one of his family that was granted access to the U.S. via the lottery.” 

“Ok,” Morgan mused. “That means either the mother or the son was ineligible to come to the U.S. for some reason. Is there anything there on your magical computer that will tell us something? Mental health records? Court papers?”

“No magic needed here, my sweets. The INS records indicate that it was the boy who was denied entry.” Garcia leaned forward and was scrolling quickly through the data displayed. “Oh…” Garcia said, her eyes widening and sounding fascinated by something she’d found. Her eyes moved rapidly back and forth as she read. Her eyes suddenly stopped moving the analyst exclaimed, “Bingo!” 

With a flick of her fingers on the keyboard, she pulled up a different screen and began trying to access information. “Damn!” Garcia swore lowly under her breath after her eyes finished scanning the data displayed. Her pink, glossy lips formed a pout. “There is something that inquiry minds want to know, but unfortunately, even my magical skills can’t access sealed juvenile court records from El Salvador.”

“No, but through information from INS, you can narrow down the types of things that would disqualify a person from emigrating,” Reid said, undaunted. 

“And you can bet at the top of the list would be conviction for sex crimes,” Morgan said grimly.

Garcia’s face screwed-up into an expression of distaste. “Eew. That’s disturbing. We are talking about a 13-year old boy, you know.”

Reid shrugged. “His juvenile criminal history could have been a herald of the criminal compulsive sexual behavior expressed as an adult. The groping acts could have been triggered by either a recent traumatic incident, or -” Morgan caught a glimpse of Reid’s eyes glance his way before inexplicably, furtively skirting away-“something actually linked to some kind of sexual abuse he experienced in childhood.” 

Morgan nodded his head in succinct agreement, having reached the same distasteful conclusion himself, but without outwardly expressing how he felt. Reid had glanced over at Morgan again and the older man felt through that one protective expression on Reid’s face, a large measure of how much the younger man loved and cared for Morgan’s well-being, especially in matters that may dredge up memories of childhood sexual abuse for the older agent. The irony of his situation did not escape Morgan. Derek Morgan, tough, seasoned FBI agent was fully capable of compartmentalizing his own experience with childhood sexual abuse, and keeping it contained and away from the inevitable encounters with similar BAU cases in order to do his job. However, Morgan the man never completely escaped the pain of his own memories that ran soul-deep. 

Morgan straightened his back and glanced at his watch, noting the lateness of the hour with some amount of resignation. “Reid, we’ve got to get on the road, we have a couple of hours of rush hour hell ahead of us.” He then turned to Garcia, “Baby Girl, give us a call if you find out anything else from INS?”

“You’re always on my speed dial, Sweetie,” retorted Garcia cheerfully to the backs of the two retreating men. 

*******

“This is it. Number 43,” Morgan said, his eyes looking upwards from his vantage point of the front passenger seat of the government car Spencer Reid was driving. It had been nearly 6:00 pm before they had departed the Quantico headquarters for a home address located in Springfield. A fair amount of bad, rush-hour traffic, countered by some back-road maneuvering by Reid saw then safely arrived at their destination a mere hour and a half later. Reid parked the car in front of an end-unit of simple-looking row houses in a neighborhood that, even in the dark of evening hours, had clearly seen better days. Reid cut the engine off, but the two men didn’t exit the car immediately because as Morgan made to open his door, Reid laid a halting hand on Morgan’s arm. “Wait a minute,” Reid said, turning his body and looking into Morgan’s eyes. 

“What’s wrong?” Morgan asked feeling both concerned and curious.

“Nothing’s wrong. I just haven’t been alone with you all day.”

Morgan laughed. “We just spent nearly two hours together in this car.” 

Reid snorted. “Yeah, it was me, you, and thousands of speeding commuters barely keeping their impending cases of road rage in check. Besides, we were talking about the case. The entire way up here. I miss you. I miss us,” Reid said, looking earnest and endearingly sheepish at the same time at the admission. A smile broke across Morgan’s face, warm and dazzling. Reid’s ways - oddly confident and shy at the same time, never ceased to move something deep within Morgan’s heart. Not for the first time did Morgan wonder how he had ever looked upon Reid as nothing more than a colleague. Not once did it occur to him to say, “I told you so.”

“That’s funny, ’cause I miss you too.” Morgan took one of Reid’s slender hands in his. Reid’s breath hitched slightly. Morgan smiled softly and stroked the soft, smooth skin, then pressed his lips to the warm flesh, bestowing a gentle kiss upon it, and wished, wished desperately that he could do oh so much more. Clearly though, this was neither the time nor the place. Inside that home, there was a man who may hold the keys to the serial groper’s whereabouts, and it was up to the two of them to find out. Morgan wanted so badly to mention how close they were to the date for the second HIV test and all the things he wanted to do to Reid when he got the green light, but by tacit agreement, neither one had ever raised the topic of the test between them again since Reid had returned from New Orleans. 

Reid pulled away, his body projecting his reluctance at the act. “Fairfax County officers should be here anytime now.” 

“Speak of the devil.” Morgan indicated with his eyes where Reid should look to where an unmarked police car had rounded the corner and was coming down the street. 

“And he will come,” Reid murmured. “Let’s go talk to Mr. Rodriguez,” the young man said in a louder voice as he moved to exit the car. 

The unmarked car parked behind them and two officers in plainclothes, one male and one female, got out the car and approached the profilers. “Agents Morgan and Reid?” one inquired.

Morgan stepped forward first. “Yes. I’m Special Agent Derek Morgan and this is Special Agent, Dr. Spencer Reid.”

“Good to meet you. I’m Detective Lara Stone and this is my partner, David Mullinax.” The tall, red-haired woman extended her hand and gave a firm handshake to both men. Morgan couldn’t help but notice how the woman’s sharp, gray eyes swept the area, then settled upon Reid who was standing with his glock exposed in the front hip holster in his customary manner. The woman’s expression changed in a manner Morgan had observed before. It was that, ‘Are you kidding me? Does your mother know you play with real guns?’ look. Morgan had seen it too often to dislike her too much for it. Her shorter partner followed suit, but covered better with a friendly handshake and casual smile that matched the general good humor in the man’s eyes. 

“This groper case has been nothing but a thorn in our asses ever since the media started reporting on it 24/7. Can’t believe it’s taken this long to catch a break,” Mullinax said as he eyed the row house they would soon enter. “Don’t get me wrong, but I wish Mr. Jordon had called our number and not yours.” 

“It doesn’t matter. We just want the attacks to stop and the guilty party caught,”  
Morgan said, not without sympathy for the police officer. He had a pretty good guess as to what the officers were feeling with this high-publicity case that had painted the police as a failure. It was the job of the BAU to provide aid and support to local law enforcement, and often, it was the BAU’s work that ultimately led to the capture and arrest of the most dangerous criminals. The BAU never publically accepted credit for their work, but that didn’t mean that local law enforcement didn’t feel the sting of not having actually solved the case. As professionals, the members of the BAU always walked a tight line keeping the levels of cooperation high and the relationship between agencies, cordial. That was the reason the detectives were with them now. It would have been poor protocol for the BAU to conduct an interview with the potential UNSUB’s father without the Fairfax County police being involved. 

“We want the same thing,” Detective Stone assured. “Shall we go?”

Reid and Morgan started walking towards the front door and the two detectives followed. Morgan looked for and found the doorbell. He pressed it and the air of anticipation while they waited to see if the door would be opened was almost a tangible thing. The curtains in the window shifted and suddenly, a black ball of furry cat appeared in the window to stare balefully at the interlopers. Except for that movement, all remained still and quiet inside until the sound of soft shufflilng footfalls could be heard. The group heard a bolt being drawn back followed by the sight of the door opening. The man who stood on the other side of the door was in his 60’s, slightly stooped with remnants of dark hair fighting for survival amongst the encroaching white. His tanned face was wrinkled and careworn from life and hard work, but his eyes burned bright with a mix of curiosity and warmth that long years and a hard life had not leached away. Mr. Carlos Rodriguez Sr. stared at his visitors. “Yes? May I help you?”

The four drew out their badges and as if by mutual consent, Morgan became the spokesperson, stepping forward and saying. “Mr. Rodriguez, we’re with the FBI and the Fairfax County police. May we come inside and speak with you?” 

Mr. Rodriguez looked surprised and his eyes grew wide as they darted back and forth from amongst the displayed badges. “Me? You want to talk to me?”

“Yes, Mr. Rodriguez. Please. It’s important,” Morgan said, forcing calm into his voice. 

Mr. Rodriguez’ gaze shifted from Morgan’s face to the other’s. His only response was to open the door and step back to let the others pass. 

They walked down a short, dark foyer into a living room that was clean but with the mismatched, outdated, worn décor of a man living without a feminine influence. A decent-sized fish tank was against one wall and its colorful occupants swam lazily back and forth amongst the plants and one decorative sunken ship. A small TV was perched atop an old brass stand over-loaded with books and assorted knick-knacks. Morgan looked around with interest and observed what looked like a Spanish-language game show on the TV before Mr. Rodriguez walked over and turned it off. There was a small area off from the living room that passed as the dining room. From the lingering aroma wafting out from the small kitchen, and the detritus on the table, they had apparently interrupted the tail end of Mr. Rodriguez’ solitary fish dinner. Mr. Rodriguez hastened to remove the plate holding the remnants of his meal from the modest dinette. 

Reid casually strolled over to a wall hung with a smattering of what appeared to be old family photos in cheap frames, and next to it, some shelves containing more photographs. The young man’s gaze swept over the photos. To an outsider, Reid’s perusal of the photos appeared casually random, but Morgan knew that Reid’s actions were deliberate and designed to deduce facts about father and son. 

Their host cleared his throat and invited the visitors to take a seat on the limited seating. Detective Stone took a seat on one edge of a couch with 1970’s style, faded upholstery while Detective Mullinax sat down at the other end. 

“Can I get you some water or juice?” Mr. Rodriguez looked around vaguely, sounding as if he were both, offering beverages that should appear, and offering apologies that they had not. 

“No thank you. We’d like to ask you some questions and as soon as we’re done, we’ll be glad to get out of your hair,” Detective Stone said bluntly. 

The old man was frozen in place for a moment, before shuffling forward and sinking wearily down into a well-used, black recliner. “Questions about what?” he asked.

At first, no one said anything. Reid crossed the room and occupied the space on the couch in between the two detectives, leaving Morgan to stand casually by a large, clean fish tank that Mr. Rodriguez meticulously maintained.

“Mr. Rodriguez, where does your son, Carlos Jr. live?” Morgan asked.

“My son?” Rodriguez’ eyebrows raised. “Why do you ask after my son?”

“We’re just doing an investigation and we think you son might have some information that could help us find a person who has been assaulting women in the area,” Mullinax said with a disarmingly jovial smile.

Rodriguez senior’s posture seemed to relax somewhat. “My son rents a room from an old lady over in Anacostia, but you will not find him there. He has gone to visit family out of the country.”

“May we have his local address for our records, please?” Stone asked in a tone that was clear she was not asking a question.

Rodriguez rattled off an address and Stone eagerly whipped out paper and pen to record it. 

“How long has your son been in Santa Ana? That is where your family is from in El Salvador, right?” Reid asked casually. 

Rodriguez looked surprised. “Santa Ana? How did you know my son went to Santa Ana?” 

“I couldn’t help but notice that photo of you and Carlos pushing a flower vendor cart in front of Estadio Óscar Quiteño,” Reid answered, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the collection of old framed photos. He got up from the couch and walked over to the photos. “And that photo there,” Reid pointed with more specificity at a colorful 8x10 photo, I’m almost positive was taken at Fiestas Julias, which is a major traditional celebration in Santa Ana held in the summer.”

“Ah...si,” Mr. Rodriguez’ face seemed to light briefly with a memory of better days before the expression was gone.

Morgan cast an inquisitive eye at Reid.

“C.D. FAS is one the most famous football clubs in all of El Salvador and their home stadium is Estadio Óscar Quiteño,” Reid said with perfectly accented Spanish. 

The young man whom Morgan loved was a genius - Morgan knew that and yet, still the little glimpses into the deep-wide well of Reid’s knowledge always fascinated the older man. Morgan couldn’t help but shoot his love an approving glance mixed with a subtly-hidden dose of, how-on-Earth-do-you-know-that? 

Reid caught Morgan's look. “I remember that from a book I read when I was six,” Reid answered Morgan’s unasked question. 

To an observer, Morgan appeared unfazed by Reid’s answer, but Rodriguez looked astonished upon hearing the exchange. “You read a book about El Salvador when you were six and you still remember it?” he asked, looking at Reid with keen, old eyes. 

“Yes,” Reid answered matter-of-factly. Suddenly, the young man blushed and mumbled, “Well, actually I recall reading that book when I was three.” 

Mr. Rodriguez said nothing, but he looked around at the faces of the agents and officers in his home, simply waiting for what was to come next. 

There was silence as Reid continued what appeared to be a casual examination of the family photographs. However, the observant Morgan knew Reid’s examination was anything but casual when he saw Reid’s eyebrows raise slightly. The young man was standing very still, his brow furrowed as his gaze rested upon two, framed pictures, set curiously apart from the other displayed photos. Other than the fact that from where he was, Morgan could see that the family photos of three were ever a reminder of the permanent, tragic loss of the youngest Rodriguez family member, Morgan wondered what had caught Reid’s eye and was it a useful clue?

“Mr. Rodriguez, I was looking at your family photos. That is your son, Carlos with his mother, correct?” Reid asked.

At first, Mr. Rodriguez’old eyes were soft with warmth for the solemn-faced boy of about 11 in the photographs Reid had been examining. “That’s my boy,” the old man said succinctly. “He’s a good boy, but life was hard for him,” he seemed to add for good measure. Morgan’s senses went on alert as he observed an unexplained, cold, hard expression come over the elder’s formally, kind, wrinkled face. 

Reid nodded his head and continued his thoughtful perusal of the family photographs. Curious, Morgan waited patiently for his lover to pursue the next line of questioning. On the other hand, Detectives Stone and Mullinax, having never worked with Reid or Morgan, were beginning to exhibit all the signs of long-suffering law enforcement officers impatient to get down to the ‘real’ questioning of the suspect’s father. “Mr. Rodriquez, have you ever suspected that your son might be the serial groper that has been terrorizing women for months now?” Detective Stone asked abruptly.

“What? Que pasa? Why do you accuse my son of this…this evil thing?” Mr. Rodriquez demanded, his lined, aged face, normally tanned dark from long exposure out of doors, suddenly looked pale and washed out. In an instant his face told of a world of disappointment, heartache over a troubled, beloved son. He looked distressed, frightened and shocked by the sudden allegation and with a pang, Morgan wondered about the state of the old man’s heart. 

Reid whipped around, eyes clearly conveying annoyance at the detective’s blunt question. Morgan too felt annoyance at the display of unprofessionalism, but he kept his face carefully neutral and only sent a subtle, censoring glance Detective Stone’s way. True, Morgan had no idea what Reid had seen in the photographs, but whatever it was, it was a clue that had intrigued the young man and was thus, Morgan knew from past experience, important. 

“Mr. Rodriquez, tonight you can help us help you rule your son out as a suspect,” Morgan smoothly obfuscated. Anything was possible, of course, but Morgan really didn’t think there was a snowball’s chance in Hell that they had not finally identified the right man as the UNSUB. 

“Carlos looks pretty happy in that picture right there,” Reid pointed to a photo of a fresh-faced young boy with thick, shaggy dark hair, sitting next to a mischievous -looking toddler girl. He looked to be no more than five years old and he was smiling, showing a grin with a missing front tooth while the parent’s beamed from their standing positions behind the children. 

Mr. Rodriguez’ face took on a wistful expression. “That was the last photo taken of my family before...,” Mr. Rodriguez averted his gaze downward, “my daughter was burned in a fire and died.”

“I’m so sorry about what happened”, Reid offered sincerely. 

“It was a long time ago,” the old man said softly, his voice sounding sad from pain remembered afresh. 

“And these photos?" Reid indicated a grouping of two photos that looked as though they did not belong with the first group at all. They were set apart from the others on a lower shelf as though being displayed somewhat reluctantly. “These were taken one or two years before you came to the States, correct?” Reid asked. 

“Yes,” Rodriguez agreed.

“That must have been terrible for your family, losing a child like that. Sometimes families don’t recover from traumatic events such as the loss of a child. Over the years, it can take a real toll on the marital relationship,” Reid remarked, resuming his inspection. 

Mr. Rodriguez’ gaze shifted towards the odd grouping of photos set apart from the others and he stared at them as if transfixed. His lips thinned into a tight line of some kind of grief and denial before he turned a penetrating stare Reid’s way. “Why do you say that?” he choked out in a harsh voice. 

Reid turned, shrugging his slender shoulders vaguely. “It’s just that these are supposed to be family portraits showing your closeness like these over here do, but your body language and your son’s expression says anything but the three of you being a happy family, or that even you and your wife are happily married. You look like you don’t even want to touch Ana,” Reid said, pointing to one of the set-apart photos. 

Mr. Rodriguez’ mouth turned down into a dour expression as if he had smelled something foul. “That woman is no longer my wife. She never should have been my wife. I only married her because my son needed a mother and I thought….I thought…” Mr. Rodriguez shut his mouth in a grim line and he hung his head in shame. She became my son’s mother, God help him.”

What? Morgan was suddenly getting a disquieting “twilight zone’ feeling when things were going sideways with no logical explanation. Ana Rodriguez was not the boy, Carlos’ mother? How could that be right? Morgan, quickly rewound the prior conversation in his head wherein Garcia had furnished as much background information about the family that she had had at that moment. He heard in his mind Garcia’s voice reminding him that they did not know why Ana and Carlos had not come to the States, but that Carlos had been denied entry. Morgan’s mouth went dry at the insinuation of why that was, but there was something else…. 

He came up with nothing that indicated that Ana Rodriguez had not been Carlos’ mother. 

Reid, on the other hand, was calmly looking at Mr. Rodriguez with a knowing expression. The surprised look that had initially appeared on the young profiler’s face at Mr. Rodriguez’ declaration had been remarkably short-lived. 

Morgan, trying to make sense out of what was really going on, strode over the collection of photographs, hoping that he would see what his lover had. 

At first glance, certainly he saw a contrast between the first groupings of photos and the two other photos kept separate, just as Reid had noted. The majority of the photos in the first collection showed a smiling, loving-looking family of four. To the casual observer, the two photos in the separate group showed a markedly different family. In the second group of photos, the figures looked stiff, the father, mother and son not posed in relaxed, affection. The way in which the unsmiling Mr. Rodriguez was not touching his wife as he had been in the other pictures was striking. The sullen look upon young Carlos’ face could easily be attributed to normal pre-teen angst. Beyond that, saw beyond the emptiness in those photos that went deeper than the absence of a little gaped-tooth, grinning girl. Evidently, it took a profiler like Reid to see that the portraits told of something more. 

And then he saw it. There was a photograph in the first grouping that had, at first glance, confused the hell out of him, before he too, assembled a few pieces to the puzzle. There was an old, faded picture that had been clearly taken inside a hospital room, judging from the background. Anna Rodriquez was sitting on a hard, vinyl chair next to a hospital bed and she was holding a newborn infant. Whoever had snapped the photo had done so with Ana and the infant as the   
subjects, front and center, but Morgan could clearly see that the hospital bed positioned next to the woman was occupied - by a woman who shared an astonishing exact likeness of face and hair as Ana Rodriguez!

The pieces clicked together then. Morgan stared at Mr. Rodriguez. “Carlos isn’t your and Ana’s biological son, is he? Your wife had a twin sister and Carlos is her son?”

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to anyone who is reading. For anyone who may be curious: this is based on a real case that has never been solved.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning for non-graphic references to past childhood sexual abuse.

The two detectives exchanged surprised looks. 

“'Junior',” Reid reminded softly discreet for Morgan’s ears only. Reid shifted his gaze from Morgan’s to Mr. Rodriguez’, strained-looking countenance. “Carlos is your biological son. You made a baby with your wife’s twin sister, isn’t that right?" the genius asked matter-of-factly. 

No acknowledgment was needed. The guilt-ridden expression on the older man’s face told Morgan and Reid that an old truth, long buried had been exposed anew. Reid continued, “What I don’t understand is, what happened to Ana because that sure as heck isn’t her in those photos of the three of you looking so unhappy.”

The old man, looking as though he had reached his limits slowly rose from his worn recliner. “Get out of my house,” he said, voice warbling with age and emotion. His eyes flashed with anger and that which is dark and painful. 

Morgan inwardly groaned. The interview was going to Hell in a hand basket and they needed to salvage things fast. “Sir, we’re not here to pass judgement on you for things that happened between you, your wife and your sister-in-law, but you need to understand that we know something happened to prevent your son from coming to the US legally. Whatever that thing is, we still have evidence to believe that Carlos Jr. is the man the police have been looking for numerous sexual assaults on women.”

“My son is not a rapist!” the senior Rodriguez shouted vehemently.

Reid left where he was standing by the photographs to stand directly in front of Mr. Rodriguez. “Not yet,” the young man challenged, “but he’s here illegally and he is a man who likes to grope the breasts and buttocks of unsuspecting women, without their consent. That’s sexual assault and it’s only a matter of time before he progresses to rape.” Reid stated bluntly, looking into the eyes of the troubled man. “I think you know that, deep down inside don’t you? Reid stared hard at the father before he added, “He’s done it before, hasn’t he?”

It was quiet for a moment with all eyes upon Mr. Rodriguez. Tears were running down the old man’s face, leaching out from his eyes and silently washing away the anger with it. 

Detective Stone was fully on alert and absorbing the new information. “What happened? Why didn’t your son come here legally?” she asked. 

Mr. Rodriguez’ strong, rough hands wiped the tears from his eyes and he wordlessly shook his head in helpless denial. 

Morgan watched the old man with a sense of regret. This was a good man, he felt, but at the same time, he knew they were getting closer to a truth, and it was most likely a truth that the old man may have long suspected regarding his son, but having deliberately cultivated ignorance, kept the delusion that all was well. That also spoke of guilt and a father’s desire to make up for the sordid sins of the past. The question was, whose sin was it? Was their suspicion about why Carlos Jr had been denied entry into the United States when he’d only been a young teen, correct? There were mysteries here beyond Carlos Jr's adult criminal acts screamed Morgan’s heightened senses.

“Mr. Rodriguez, those family photos on the top shelf tell a story about a boy who was happy and loved. Something happened years later. Something that may not have been his fault. Help us understand,” Morgan pressed, hoping to persuade the man to talk. 

Slowly, Mr. Rodriguez lifted his head and his obsidian eyes were flat and emotionless. He answered Morgan, but he was looking at Reid. “Your friend over there likes stories. Let me tell you one now, and you can add it to your collection of tales from El Salvador,” he said with a bitter grin. He stalled and scratched his head. “I knew Ana and her twin sister Carmen for as long as I can remember. They were identical in so many ways. They used to dress exactly alike and they liked the same things. Our families lived close to each other, and we grew up going to school together, playing together. We were the closest of childhood friends all the way in to our teen years. That is when things changed,” he said, falling silent for a moment. 

 

“How”? Detective Stone asked.

Rodriguez shook his head helplessly. “Carmen began acting strangely. She had episodes and fits of rage and crazy things she would say and do. Nobody knew what was wrong with her and after years, finally, her parents took her to see a doctor who gave her medicine. Sometimes she was ok, sometimes not. After a while, we just accepted that Carmen was…well, she was ‘off’. I don’t know why, or how, I only know that a year later I began to develop feelings towards Ana and Ana towards me. We never told Carmen about our feelings, but one day she found out. She found about her sister and me and she was angry, distraught, hurt…jealous even. She made it hard to be happy around her so we always used to downplay everything when she was nearby. We got older, and then it was time to grow up and move on. I wanted to marry Ana and she wanted to marry me, so when we were both 19 we tied the knot.”

“And Carmen went off the deep end, right?” Detective Mullinax asked. 

“Si,” Rodriguez said softly. “But I had no idea how far. I didn’t know that the reason Carmen was so angry was because she was both jealous of Ana and in love with me. I didn’t know she had stopped taking her medication.” Rodriguez shrugged his shoulders, “How was I supposed to know that she would do?”

“What did she do?” Reid asked.

“Oh, she was clever, very clever, that one,” Rodriguez replied. “I had no idea that Carmen had been watching me, keeping tabs on where and when I went. But one night, her hard work paid off. I made a terrible mistake one night when I went to a friend’s party and got drunk.” Rodriguez shook his grey head ruefully. “I was too drunk to drive home, but I can remember that my friend, he says to me, “Carlos, don’t go home, just sleep it off here.” So I did.” Rodriguez looked ill. “That’s when Carmen came to the house pretending to be Ana. My friend, who let her in his house, couldn’t tell the difference and I was too drunk to notice she was not my Ana. That was the night, my son Carloito was conceived. She tricked me! Later, when I found out, I thought my life with Ana was over. There was no way that Carmen wouldn’t tell her sister because by then , she believed that she and I would be together. I thought Ana would leave me but my Ana is a true miracle,” Rodriguez declared, his voice growing gruff with emotion. “She stood by me. She even forgave her sister who, by the time the baby was born, was back on her medications. That’s why Ana and I went to the hospital when my son was born. We went to see him and Carmen because Carmen was in her right mind by then. She told us both how sorry she was about what she’d done and she realized she didn’t want to be a single mother, tied down to a baby. She begged us to take the child and raise him as our own. How could I say no? He was my baby and Ana fell in love with him the moment he was placed in her arms.” 

“Then what the Hell happened? Why is Carmen in those family photos with you and your son, Carlos instead of Ana?” Morgan asked, confused. This story was completely wacked and Morgan, in addition to wondering what had happened to Ana now also wondered if and when Carlos Jr had known that the woman he knew to be his Aunt was actually his mother and vice versa.

Morgan watched silently as Rodriguez buried his head in his hands and cried and this time the tears the old man cried seemed to Morgan to be more like a reaction to the prospect of finally being able to tell another person the truth, no matter how painful that truth was. 

Morgan’s thought was born out when, after a short time of quiet weeping, Rodriguez raised his head and whispered through the tears still streaking down his face. “Because the fire that killed our beautiful little girl also killed my Ana.” 

Completely thrown, Morgan exchanged questioning glances with Reid. Is this what his brilliant lover had discerned? Morgan remembered very well Garcia telling them that the little girl had escaped the fire, only to die of her burns later in the hospital. Regarding Ana, the analyst had said only that the mother too had been burned, but Garcia had not said that she too had died. It appeared that there had been yet more dark tragedy for this man’s family - and still, they had yet to truly advance the criminal case against Carlos Jr. “I’m so sorry for what happened to Ana. I didn’t know she perished in the fire,” Morgan said to the over-burdened old man. 

Mr. Rodriguez shook his head sadly. “No, no. She did not perish in the blaze, but nonetheless, it was the fire that took Ana from us.” He wiped tears from his face with his still strong, but wrinkled hands. “She was burned…horribly disfigured from the fire. Her face…” Rodriguez gestured vaguely. “Understand this” he stated vehemently, “it didn’t matter to me. She was alive, she was my Ana, but to her…the pain - everything-it was too much. She never came home from the hospital. After a while, she was supposed to be released. The morning I came to pick her up and take her home they found her….hanged in her room.” 

A sad silence descended upon the small living room. Morgan exchanged glances with Reid and the warm, hazel eyes of his young lover were dark with sympathy. There was no doubt that the father’s grief was real, but that did not lessen Morgan’s sense of morbid curiosity of how Mr. Rodriguez ultimately married his dead wife’s mentally unbalanced, twin sister. Somewhere in the tangled story was the intersection between the alleged acts of one adult Carlos Jr, and a little boy Carlos had once been who had grown up believing the wrong woman had given birth to him. 

“I lost my daughter. I lost my wife and Carlito loved and missed his little sister and his mother. My boy didn’t know that his Aunt Carmen was really his mother.” He sighed heavily. “ A whole year past and Carmen was so much better. Her medicines were working. She was there for me and you should have seen her with Carlos. It was the first time I really saw what she would have been like as a true mother to Carlito, and…she was beautiful, the living image of my Ana.” He shrugged. “I was lonely. My son needed a mother. The year after that we married.” 

“I take it you and Carmen did not ride off happily into the sunset,” Detective Stone stated bluntly. 

“No,” Rodriguez replied simply. The old man paused for a moment in reflection. “It was the biggest mistake of my life, but for too long I didn’t realize that.” He did not look anyone in the eye as he became more inward-looking. “Carmen stopped taking the medicines the doctors gave her. She started drinking. I swear before Heaven that I didn’t know what she was doing.”

The sickening feeling was beginning to creep back into Morgan’s  
gut. He was standing on the threshold of a doorway leading to the truth of that which his heart had previously only hinted knowledge of. If what he suspected had happened, this was far worse. Morgan was completely oblivious to the fact that his breath caught and he was holding it as Rodriquez spoke words that confirmed the worst. Hot, white, incredulous anger crept over Morgan’s soul and he confronted it head-on. “Are you saying Carmen sexually molested her own son?” he demanded harshly. 

“Si,” Rodriguez admitted in a harsh whisper. “Carmen wasn’t just sick in the head, she was evil” How could she have done that…to her own child?” he cried as if still unable to come to terms with such terrible knowledge. 

Morgan turned away, unable to bear looking at Mr. Rodriguez, oblivious to the stares of the two Fairfax County detectives. To Morgan, this explained so much about the criminal actions of the adult Carlos Jr - his apparent sexual violence and hatred toward women had been fueled by some kind of childhood sexual trauma inflicted by a woman who, as a boy, he had believed was his Aunt, only to learn later was really his biological mother.

Reid, discreetly moved between Morgan and the line of sight of the flummoxed- faced detectives. “Mr. Rodriguez. I am sorry to ask this, but we need to know the truth. Had your son been convicted of some kind of sex crime for which he was denied entry into the U.S.?” Reid asked.

“He was just a boy! Just a boy,” Rodriguez whispered, his head bowing under the weight off his admission. Rodriguez sighed heavily. “Long before the trouble with my son started, I made the decision to bring my family to America. It was time to leave and make a fresh start, you understand, si?” Rodriguez did not wait for a response, but continued on. “I knew about the immigration lottery. I knew I would need much patience and luck to have the right to move my family to America. Right around the first time I applied to the lottery, rumors started up in our neighborhood.”

“What kind of rumors?” Morgan demanded, his tone, he knew, sounded considerably cooler. Had Mr. Rodriguez known that his son was troubled? Troubled enough to molest other children? 

“Crazy rumors. People were saying evil, disgusting accusations about my son, but never to my face. Once, my business was even vandalized.”

 

“The rumors. What kind.” Morgan repeated, not surprised to hear that something about the boy’s behavior had already caught the attention of others. Of course it had. This same boy had grown up to become a serial sexual predator. 

“Some people were saying my child grabbed two younger girls and…and…did sexual things to them against their wills. The police came to my home. They questioned Carlito him and then they left.” Rodriguez looked up and his gaze went straight to the image of a smiling gaped-tooth boy. Then he looked around at the strangers in his home and he defiantly declared, “I thought, ‘This is ridiculous! This is a mistake’. The police left and I thought that is the end of that.” Rodriguez fell silent then and appeared to ponder the worn fibers on his rug. 

“But you were wrong, weren’t you?” Morgan prompted doggedly. He was pushing the man, and he knew it, but he really wanted to just get the sordid story over with so that they could acquire all available information to help locate and bring Carlos Jr. to justice. Once they accomplished this, Morgan couldn’t wait to take Reid and get as far away from this humble home with its sad tale of a man who had fathered a sexual predator, as soon as possible. 

Rodriguez was stone-faced and silent until at last he answered, “I didn’t know.” The old man clasped his leathery-looking, strong hands together as if in prayer. “For a long time I refused to believe such monstrous lies against a child. It was some kind of nightmare- and it only got worse. If only I had known what evil Carmen brought with her into my home.” Rodriguez took a deep, shuddering breath and slowly expelled it. “A year later my son was accused of doing something against another girl. It turned out that she was the niece of a prominent police captain. This time, when the police came, they took my son away with them. He went before a judge and was found guilty of the charges. They were going to put him away in a prison with adults and he was just a child!” Rodriguez trembled at the potency of a memory whose power to horrify had not faded over time. Rodriguez took a moment to collect himself. “It took every financial resource I had to get him into a youth offender program,” he eventually said in a low voice. “His record was supposed to be sealed and he was supposed to be able to go on with his life.”

“But that didn't happen and you still believed your son was innocent?” Reid asked, his voice not quite disguising a note of incredulity. 

“Of course I believed my son!” Rodriguez retorted, his voice steeped in bitterness and clear regret. Rodriguez snorted derisively. “ The police are known for their corruption. I thought there was no chance they would not frame my son no matter what, once my boy was accused of touching the Chief of Police’s niece. I knew they would believe my son was guilty based on the rumors others were spreading, because that is how it works. Then, all I wanted to do was take my family and come to America. I applied to the lottery and kept trying until finally, my name was chosen. I thought my dreams for a better life were going to come true.” Rodriguez closed bitter, pain-filled eyes and everyone else seemed to shift impatiently from the strain of being on the brink of what promised to be a distasteful, but relevant revelation. 

From where he still stood by the framed photos, Reid spoke. “But your son was denied entry into the U.S.” Reid’s eyes narrowed and the younger man voiced what Morgan himself was also thinking. “Something happened to change your mind about your son’s guilt. What was that?” Reid asked, his face open and carefully nonjudgmental in expression. 

When Rodriguez next reopened his eyes, the brown orbs were burning with a fury clearly running soul-deep. “It was Carmen! Twisted, freak,” the old man spat the words out. “She did this to my son. Carlos didn’t know that what he was doing was wrong because of the sick, disgusting sexual things she was doing to her own son behind my back!” Rodriguez’ voice shook with the force of the old, dredged-up anger. “By the time I found out the truth, it was too late. My son had already been denied entry into the U.S. and I was advised to not forfeit my lottery win. I was told to come ahead and then try to bring my son and my wife to the U.S. afterwards. That is what I did. I moved to the States to get established and to fight to bring my son here so that we could continue to live together as a family. God help me, I didn’t know I was leaving my son in the hands of a child molester!”

Morgan swallowed the bile threatening to rise in his throat. “But you chose to leave him with a woman you knew was, at best, mentally unstable?” he asked, sounding remarkably composed despite the extreme level of disgust he was feeling.

“I had no choice. Could any of you imagine that a mother would do that to her child?” No one answered, for all of them, to an agent, could easily imagine such a thing, having seen that and much worse throughout their respective careers in law enforcement. 

Rodriguez looked searchingly from one face to another and not finding what he was looking for, continued in a low voice. “I wasn’t able to return to El Salvador as soon as I had wanted so I didn’t discover the truth for several years later when Carlos was a young man of 17.” 

“How exactly did you find out that your wife was molesting her own son?” Detective Stone asked in a carefully neutral tone of voice. 

Rodriguez’ face was full of shame and regret when he muttered, “Not soon enough.” He took a quick, deep breath and then quickly expelled it. “I was working as hard as I could to establish myself and to pay a lawyer who promised to help me get Carlos cleared to come to the U.S. I paid this man, but he kept asking for more money and yet in the end, he did nothing for me. Finally I had enough. I saved enough money to return to El Salvador to make a surprise visit. In the end, I was the one who received the surprise instead,” he said bitterly. 

Morgan looked over at Reid and knew his own expression must mirror the dismayed one the younger man wore. 

“You found them…together?” Morgan asked, surprised at how calm and even his voice sounded. 

“He was…he looked,” the old man shook his head, struggling to express himself. “His eyes looked dead, like my boy was gone. When he saw that it was me, standing there witnesses his mother abusing him, then he looked so horrified. He ran off while I stood there calling after him.” 

“Did you go after him?” Reid asked immediately. The sudden sharpness of the young man’s tone signaled to Morgan that his lover was just as effected by the story as he himself was.

“How could I? I was in shock!” Rodriguez declared. “I stood there in a state of disbelief, just trying to understand what was going on, but I could not.” He shook his head and looked down at the ground before speaking softly, “I don’t remember what happened next exactly, except that Carmen was screaming at me to stop.”

“And did you?” Detective Stone asked, her voice surprisingly gentle.

Rodriguez did not respond immediately, but at last when he did, he looked the woman straight in the eye with a cold, hard expression that chilled Morgan’s soul. “Yes,” Rodriguez said flatly, “but not before she told me everything that she had done to Carlos and how long she’d been abusing him.” 

There was no doubt in anybody’s mind that Rodriguez had done what he needed to extract a thorough confession from Carmen’s lips. The truth, raw and brutal, was in his face which no longer bore the salt-of-the-earth, honest, hard-working expression that normally graced his features, but instead, reflected a lethal fury and disgust. Rodriguez sighed heavily then, and just as suddenly as the kindly old man had seemingly disappeared, he returned and was once again recounting the tale in his tired, sad voice. “After that, I knew in my heart that what Carlos had been accused of doing to those girls was true. Carmen had taken my boy, twisted and perverted him until he didn’t know what he was doing.” Rodriguez’ eyes were liquid pools of sorrow once again. “My boy ran away. I searched and searched for him without success until finally, I had to return to the United States. I did not see Carlos again until he was almost 26 years old when, by a miracle of Our Lady, he showed up at my door in America.” 

Morgan said nothing. He was fighting to maintain a professional, detached demeanor and simultaneously struggling to reconcile strong, conflicting emotions. On one hand, in his heart he felt pity for the lost innocence of a young boy who had already suffered through the death of his sister and biological mother. Though his experience had not been identical, Morgan had more than a passing idea of what young Carlos must have felt like, trapped in a home that was supposed to safe for him, and yet enduring sexual abuse at the hands of someone with whom he should have trusted and been safe. On the other hand, Morgan felt strong feelings of disgust for the adult man who had victimized and terrorized countless innocent woman. In any case, their business here was mostly done. There was nothing he or anyone else could do for the little, abused boy who was long gone. What they needed to know was the exact, current location of the man before Carlos escalated his attacks to rape. 

Abruptly, during his internal war, a klaxon began setting off an alert in Morgan’s mind regarding Carlos’ return to El Salvador. Why had the illegal alien risked so much in repeatedly leaving the States and returning to El Salvador? Why would the man go back to a place of suffering and torment? A most disturbing answer hit Morgan full on. The senior agent shook his head in silent denial. No way. There was no way that this man had returned to El Salvador to be with an ailing “mother”, yet that is exactly what Hotchner had relayed regarding zookeeper Jordan’s theory on why Carlos periodically disappeared. If this is true, that is some kind of fucked up in anybody’s book. But then again, there was nothing about this situation that was not steeped in perversion. Carlos Jr’s behavior was in line with the profile of someone who both hated women and had been victimized by a woman. Clearly, the former Mrs. Rodriguez still maintained her ability to dominate and abuse Carlos. 

Reid was frowning. As if he’d read Morgan’s mind, the younger man asked rather passionately, “How could you have let your son return to El Salvador to be with his abuser under any circumstances?” Morgan could tell that Reid was genuinely bothered by the emotion the genius agent had let slip through his voice and expressive eyes. Morgan didn’t blame Reid, but he doubted the old man had a satisfactory answer for a question they all wanted to know. The psychological dynamics between Carlos and Carmen were complicated enough for trained professionals, let alone a simple man like Mr. Rodriguez. Morgan had been observing and feeling disquieted by the sight of the silent tears leaking from the old man’s eyes and slowly streaking down the lined, weather-beaten face. 

Mr. Rodriguez angrily swiped at the tears. “The first time Carlos returned to El Salvador, he simply told me he was going one afternoon, right after we’d finished working a long shift at the zoo. I begged him not to go because I feared he wouldn’t have the same ability to return. He never told me he was going to see that demon-seed, Carmen because she claimed that she was dying.” Rodriguez sighed heavily and looked from Reid to Morgan. “You don’t understand. By then I had no idea who my son was. He was a stranger to me and his emotions were like….like a volcano - always erupting, burning just underneath the surface. The only thing I could do was keep my vow to stand by him and help him as best I could. I owed it to him, but he didn’t owe that evil woman anything.” Rodriguez shook his head in a gesture that conveyed with eloquence his continued inability to comprehend the situation. 

“Most likely he feels cowed by her. She effectively de-emasculated him and his compulsive assaults against women are his misguided attempts to release his anger and re-assert his manhood,” Reid clarified. 

Morgan cleared his throat. “We appreciate everything you’ve shared with us, Mr. Rodriguez. We know this hasn’t been easy, but like we told you earlier, we believe Carlos is the man whose been assaulting women in our area. In light of everything that you’ve told us, is there really any doubt in your mind that we have the right “ suspect? 

Rodriguez said nothing. Nothing was necessary when Mr. Rodriguez’ frightened, guilty expression said it all. 

“There’s no telling what he’s doing in El Salvador, Mr. Rodriguez,” Reid added. “That’s why we’re asking you to tell us the address where Carlos is because even if you don’t, we will coordinate with the government of El Salvador to locate him anyway.” Reid didn’t bother mentioning the potential negative consequences to the senior Rodriguez should the guilt-ridden father elect to hinder the investigation to protect his son after the group of law enforcement officers departed. That too was unnecessary. 

Rodriguez got up and shuffled over to small bookcase that held a small collection of books, cd’s and outdated VHS tapes and began rifling through a small stack of papers and envelopes. The old man’s hands, so normally steady and sure as he went about his duties caring for the zoo animals, were shaking as he located the one he wanted and pulled it out from the stack of papers. It was as envelope with an address written on it in scrawling block letters. Mr. Rodriguez handed the envelope to Reid. “Here. This is the address where Carmen resides. Carlos said she had a stroke four years ago. It should have killed her,” the old man muttered bitterly. “That is where you will mostly likely find Carlolito,” he added more clearly.

Reid took the proffered address. His eyes swept over the writing and with lightning-fast reading ability, permanently placed the address into his memory. Then the young man read the address aloud before passing the envelope over to Detective Stone, who in turn, carefully placed the paper into a manila folder. From his seat, Detective Mullinax quietly switched off the recording device he had been using for later transcription of the interview.

Mr. Rodriguez had moved to stand in front of the shelves holding the framed photographs, only now it looked to Morgan more like a shrine to the dead, and the frames were the prison in which the faded images of a phantom family were safely contained for all time. He surveyed the room for what he hoped would be the last time and observed Mr. Rodriguez, who was standing, looking down at the photos and stroking the frames lovingly with one finger.

Morgan glanced at his watch and was surprised to see just how little time had passed since they had entered the tiny home. He felt as though they’d been there forever and though he’d never suffered from claustrophobia, he was feeling something akin to it. The corner shadows cast by the dim lighting in the small living room seemed to lengthen and overpower the illumination afforded by the overhead light fixture, thus making the room feel even smaller. A blanket of heavy silence fell over the room until Detective Stone’s authoritative voice rang out. “Thank you, Mr. Rodriguez. We won’t take up any more of your evening. Thank you for everything you’ve shared with us. If you have any questions, here is how you can contact Detective Mullinax and myself.” Stone walked over to Rodriguez, holding out a business card. She stood beside the man, trying to get him to take the card, but Rodriguez, preferring the company of his memorialized family, ignored her. Tactfully, the detective withdrew her hand and laid the card on one of the shelves instead. 

Morgan met Reid’s eyes and with subtle communication, each man began making his way towards the front door. That was it, as far as Morgan was concerned. The identity of the Unsub had most assuredly been revealed. They knew where he was, and now they had a better understanding of just how Carlos Jr. had come by a psychological disposition that would agree with him becoming a serial groper. Most importantly, they had scored the address for where the El Salvadorian was most likely to be found. 

Of all the ways this hard-working man’s life had gone wrong, Morgan did not care to have the father end up with a charge of aiding and abetting to the list, but Morgan was experienced enough to know that desperate people sometimes did desperate, ill-advised things. Morgan paused at the door and addressed the back of the distressed father. “Take care, Mr. Rodriguez. I know you may want to, but should you hear from Carlos, please keep this visit to yourself. Don’t tip him off that the authorities may be coming for him soon,” Morgan cautioned. He did not turn, but this time, Mr. Rodriguez acknowledged the words with a slight nod of his head. With that, the two detectives and the two agents stepped outside into the dark, quiet street, thus closing the door behind on a father’s lifelong grief and regrets. 

 

*******

Two Weeks Later 

In one of the outer offices of the Elizabeth Taylor Clinic of Whitman-Walker, a very nerve-racked Morgan paced back and forth. At last, the long-awaited day was here: the day the most important person in Morgan’s universe would receive either the best news of his life, or the very worst. Either Spencer Reid’s blood carried the HIV virus, or it did not. Morgan was loath to admit his apprehension in light of the steady-rock image he’d so carefully maintained in front of everyone, especially Reid, during the younger man’s torturous wait for this day. He never imagined this day would come and he would not be right by Reid's side when the results were given, but to his suprise, he was not. After finally reaching the clinic, Reid had nervously, but resolutely turned to Morgan and asked the older man to remain outside of the office while Reid followed the counselor into the inner office to receive his results. Morgan’s gut was twisted from nerves on edge, and his inability to stop pacing was his body’s way of forcing him into acknowledging the truth: the stoic façade had gone out the window. After all the weeks of firmly believing that Reid’s fear of turning out HIV positive after the initial negative test was both remote and a product of Reid’s extreme phobia, Morgan now found himself hard pressed not to burst through those closed doors that stood between himself and Reid. Every fiber in his being wanted to go in there and drag his young lover out, test results or no test results. 

Morgan began to reflect on the last two months which seemed to have passed in a most peculiar, contradictory manner. On one hand, the work days at the BAU had been busy and the cases the elite team of agents had been called upon to help solve made the days pass by in a whirlwind of oftentimes, frantic activity. After the BAU’s involvement in the groper case had concluded, Reid and Morgan had continued to go about their professional lives as BAU agents in a unit that never lacked for cases. From coast to coast and everywhere in between, murders occurred, killers were profiled and subsequently captured as a direct result of the BAU team’s efforts. The elite team had worked other cases as well. A brutal gang of serial bank robbers, and one case of child abduction had led to both triumph and heartache, respectively. While Morgan and Reid’s professional life in the BAU remained business-as-usual, that was not the case with their personal lives. Each day of waiting for Reid’s next HIV test loomed like a threatening monster whose oppressive presence was growing exponentially greater the closer the test date. There were many a day when the two would finish work and retire to one or the other’s home for a simple dinner, or just to sit close together on the sofa, exhausted from the day’s professional activities. 

Morgan was keenly aware that his lover’s inner struggle to express himself through physical sexual contact was greatly compromised due to Reid’s extreme fear of possibly transmitting HIV to Morgan. It didn’t seem to help that Reid regularly acknowledged the unreasonableness of his fear, for despite the daily contact, it was a lonely, frustrating time for each of them. Reid insisted on holding his emotions close to the vest in a misguided effort to maintain the illusion of control. However, the evidence of Reid’s inner struggle, and the form in which it took, was hard to ignore. Reid’s stubborn refusal to talk about it also fed into the strain until the pressure became like a third presence in their relationship. 

 

The two men had refrained from making love since the interrupted night of Ethan’s suicide. Since the test, they never so much as kissed out of Morgan’s respect for how strongly Reid’s fear tormented the younger man. They never spent the night in the same bed, instead Morgan had to content himself with holding Reid’s slender body in his arms as they relaxed together on the sofa. It was pure torture for Morgan who, in his own way, understood Reid’s desire for distance. How could he not when the man who held his heart was within his arms, yet he could not do what his mind, body and emotions longed to do to the beautiful body encircled in his arms?

Instead, Morgan had counted off the days in his head, just as he knew Reid was also doing. The pressure was nearing overwhelming. Troubling thoughts pummeled Morgan relentlessly and they betrayed his inner unshakablity. What if the results were positive and the young genius had been right all along? Had he not seen Reid’s analysis of many a bizarre situation turn out to be spot on time and again? Isn’t that what geniuses did - be right when others got it wrong? And if Reid were right and the test came back positive? What then? Such were the anxious thoughts of the pacing man, and those were the longest two minutes of Derek Morgan’s life. 

And then the door opened. 

Morgan whirled around and his heart leaped into his mouth. He was vaguely aware of the sound of himself sucking in air and not exhaling it as he beheld his lover standing in the doorway. Reid stood still as a statue, color drained from his face, leaving his skin a sickly shade of pale. The young man was staring at the words written on the test results clutched in his hand. Reid was moving his mouth as if to speak, but no sound came out. Then Reid’s body began trembling uncontrollably. 

Shock. Denial. Grief. Fear gripped Morgan in a hold overripe with the strength of its cruelty at the sight. He could only fight to keep from screaming at feeling their hopes and dreams vanish like smoke in the wind. The man he loved was standing in front of him, the picture of abject misery, alone, afraid. Morgan waited for Reid to speak, but he didn’t - couldn’t by the looks of it. And then Morgan couldn’t stand it anymore. He practically lurched forward and drew the slight, shaking body to himself with arms that were also trembling.

Morgan wrapped his arms around Reid and buried his face in the hollow space of the younger man’s shoulder and collarbone, holding on to Reid as if holding on to life itself. 

The trembling in the slender body grew violent in its increase. Morgan could feel Reid’s muscles contracting and at the same time, Reid’s head snapped back and what came forth from the open mouth had Morgan wondering had the younger man suffered a mental breakdown. 

Reid was laughing. 

Great, high-pitched peals of laughter were coming up from a place deep within and Morgan could only keep holding on, shocked by the sound. Reid kept laughing and Morgan‘s fear increased until he felt sick to his stomach. He was confused, desperate to hold Reid together. “Spencer! Spencer stop. Why are you laughing?” he demanded, fear for his lover making his voice harsher than he intended.

Reid choked and sputtered, clearly struggling to halt the laughing fit as he shook his head ‘no’ while simultaneously pushing himself away from Morgan‘s arms. When Reid raised his face Morgan was able to clearly see the other man’s eyes. They were bright and shining with unmistakable joy and relief. “What?...”

“It’s negative! I don’t have the HIV virus!” Reid practically shouted.  
“It’s negative...oh my God.” the younger man breathed in wonder. 

Morgan had no time to experience elation at comprehending such news. The roller coaster ride that was in his stomach and driving his emotions took another plunge as he watched Reid’s face suddenly twist as if in pain. The young genius made a sound like a sob being held back, but apparently the effort proved too much for him. Reid buried his face in his hands and he began to weep, once again shaking uncontrollably from the release of so much bottled-up fear and tension.

Morgan’s face too was wet with tears and he didn’t bother wiping them away. Instead he let them flow and mingle with Reid’s and he was glad; glad that Reid had peace of mind and overwhelming relieved that the younger man did not have the HIV virus. It was over. Every negative thing that Ethan Stewart’s presence had brought into their lives was over. Morgan held the younger man until he felt Spencer Reid gain control over himself. Out of the corner of his eye, Morgan was aware of the presence of the smiling counselor, discreetly closing the door to the inner office to give them some privacy. Now that they were alone, Morgan gently disentangled himself from the intimate hold and instead, with both hands on Reid’s shoulders, Morgan held the younger man away from himself and wordlessly swept his gaze up and down the slender form. Reid was smiling through his tears, his face shining like the sun with an inner light that seemed to blind Morgan. 

Suddenly, Morgan brought the form in his arms close to his body, titled that bright, smiling face towards his and he kissed him. Morgan latched his mouth over Spencer’s, swallowing the low “oh” that the younger man gasped out. Morgan’s lips, teeth and tongue thoroughly kissed the younger man, deeply, reverently, and Reid gave himself whole-hardheartedly over to it, accepting Morgan’s oral worship and revealing in the messages Morgan’s talented mouth conveyed.

The kiss lasted was seemed an eternity until lack of air made them both part and gasp for oxygen. They looked each other in the eyes and as if on que, burst out laughing. 

“Oh God,, Spencer are you ready to get out of here?” Morgan asked eagerly. 

Reid’s grin held laughter in it. “Are you kidding me? I thought you’d never ask!”

“What now?” Morgan asked, though it was plain what he thought their next move should be.

Reid’s smile grew even wider as he effortlessly read the book of Morgan. His hazel eyes were strangely tender, shy and filled with lust at the same time. “I want to go home with you. I want us to have twenty-four hours of no clothing between us. No phones ringing, no television. I want you to finish what you started when Ethan interrupted us. I want you to nail me to the mattress and make my body feel your presence long after we’ve both climaxed,” Reid declared boldly. 

Morgan kissed Reid again. “I don’t want to fuck your body,” Morgan said and when he caught a tendril of hurt expression on Reid’s face, he hastened to clarify: “I want to use my body to make love to yours. I want what we choose to do to each other physically to touch each other here.” With his finger, Morgan gently tapped Reid’s temple. “And here...” this time Morgan pressed his lips, in a gentle kiss, to Reid’s chest, in the area where the shirt covered the younger man’s heart.

“Oh,” Reid said simply. 

That was that. Hand in hand, Spencer Reid and Derek Morgan left the Elizabeth Taylor Clinic of Whitman-Walker, never to return. 

 

********

Morgan’s bedroom was lit with the soft warm light of five strategically placed candles. The light and shadows played over the naked forms of the two men on Derek Morgan’s king-size bed. The slender white body lay next to the powerful, finely muscled body of the dark-skinned one, creating a seamless, artistic creation of black and white living beauty. Morgan and Reid lay together, kissing, caressing, drawing out the slow, thorough exploration of each other’s bodies until it was time to move to yet one more activity before they reached the one that would unite their bodies as their hearts and minds had been united.

Morgan placed his hands on either side of Reid's hips. Then in one powerful motion, he rolled the slender body on top of his so that they were laying chest to chest, pelvis to pelvis, hard erections touching and sparking the flames of passion and yearning even higher. 

Reid’s open mouth panted his strong desire. He knew what was coming soon and he longed for it with all of his heart. He had long fantasized about what it would be like to have that powerful body thrusting into him, deep, hard, and fast. Many a night Reid had woken up hard as a rock to the fading dream of being filled, stretched and pounded to orgasm on Morgan’s cock. It was about to happen, but wait…Reid managed to force a small plea from his lips and indicate with his body that he wished to switch positions and be the one to lie atop Morgan’s hard, chiseled body. It had occurred to Reid that he wanted to be the one to bestow something special to Morgan, first before knowing that ultimate pleasure of joining his body to Morgan’s. He wanted to know the joy of pleasuring his lover to fulfillment, knowing that Morgan’s desire would be first to seek Reid’s pleasure before his own. 

Morgan’s face registered his surprise and delight with Reid’s expressed desire to be on top. Morgan was caressing Reid’s face until effortlessly, he turned them both so that Reid’s long, lean body was blanketing Morgan’s own. 

With lips and long-fingered hands Reid began exploring the body of his lover. His tongue he licked and tasted the clean sweetness of Morgan’s flesh - velvet and chocolate skin over hard, shapely muscles. He found Morgan’s scent of cinnamon and musk wildly intoxicating. His hands roamed over the planes and angles of the older man’s body, mapping him, massaging and rubbing until Morgan lay moaning and writhing beneath him. With the tips of his fingers, Spencer brushed the tender nubs of Morgan’s rich brown nipples until they hardened into peaks. 

Moaning, lost in his passion, the silken, gentle hand being used to stroke Morgan's straining erection felt so good, so right. The soft lips and tongue being introduced to his organ only heightened his arousal. Up. Down. The smoothly gliding motion on his cock alternated with other sensations. Suck. Lick. The moist, hot cavern of Spencer’s mouth sheathing his flesh was exquisite. This was his first consensual experience with being the recipient of a blow job. The sensations were intoxicating and Morgan was moaning mindlessly from the pleasure of what Spencer Reid was doing to him. This was so far better than when - No don’t think of him, Morgan’s mind screamed at the sudden detour into the waters of dark, terrible childhood memories. You swore you’d never think again of what he did to you.” But the inner reminder was too late. The door to suppressed memories of his sexual abuse as a youth not only swung wide open, it ripped off its hinges by Reid’s act which the other man had only intended for pleasure. 

Morgan’s bliss abruptly ended when the grip on his flesh seemingly changed. In his mind, the hand that stroked him now became a much larger, callused, one - a dark hand of a grown man that moved with brutal insistency upon his captive, adolescent flesh. 

The alternating mouth and hands that pleasured him belonged not to Spencer but to another - a man who should have been like a father to him - hell, had been a father to him until... Morgan stiffened and this time the moan that escaped his lips was not one of pleasure, but of pain and long forgotten fear. It was no longer Spencer‘s lips and tongue exploring him with joyous curiosity. No, the hands that gripped his hips had a much wider-span and their hold had only a mildly muted current of brutality in it. The molester’s mouth upon his penis was too rough, too insistent that his body yield to the unwanted climax he demanded each and every time.

Suddenly, Morgan could feel the heavy weight of his football coach’s body on top of his. Coach Carl Buford who had taken his trust and his body and abused them both many times over. The grown man had forced the young boy, who wanted nothing more than to make something of himself and escape the mean streets of Chicago, to experience orgasm during the molestation as a sign that Morgan was “getting what he really wanted anyway.” 

Morgan’s willing erection withered like fruit on a dying vine from the shame of his memories overtaking him. Morgan’s body began to shake, lost no longer in passion but in a waking nightmare. Reid, perceiving that something had gone terribly wrong with his lover, instantly stopped his movements. He released the trembling body and moved his own nearer to the headboard so that he could better look into Morgan’s face. 

What he saw broke Reid’s heart. 

The look of fear and shame in the dark, beautiful eyes shocked him. Clearly, for an instant, it had not been himself that was sharing Morgan’s bed. The imagined body next to the older man could only have been someone who had hurt and caused Morgan pain, and Reid knew it to be the youth football coach who had molested and murdered an innocent boy all those years ago, and sexually molested Morgan. 

Next to Reid, Morgan had closed his eyes and turned his head away. The man's cock which had been proudly erect a moment ago now lay limp and shriveled between his legs. The sound of his ragged breathing was seemingly amplified in the bedroom. “I’m sorry.” Morgan’s voice was miserable, shame-filled to Reid‘s ears. 

The younger man was horrified, racked by guilt for having touched his lover in a way that had evoked the ghost of past trauma. Reid stilled his hands that wanted so much to stroke and soothe the tormented man. He desperately wanted to replace every bad, painful, shameful memory with new ones of love, respect, tenderness. Carefully, Reid reached out and touched Morgan’s pained-looking face. Slowly, gently he turned the beloved face towards him. Very softly he asked, “Do you trust me?”

The sound of the ragged breathing began to level out and Morgan, without opening his eyes, shook his head in the affirmative.

“No, Derek, look me in the eye and tell me whether or not you trust me.”

There was a pause while Morgan seemingly collected himself. Reid waited patiently until finally, Morgan turned his head toward Spencer. Reid’s gaze caught and held Morgan’s dark, wounded eyes below him. Morgan licked his lips, “I...I trust you, Baby.”

Reid bestowed an answering kiss upon Morgan’s brow, then his elegant hands caressed Morgan’s face gently stroking and tracing the strong features. He was more than a little awed and humbled by the extreme level of trust that Morgan had granted him. He resolved in his heart that he would use his body as an instrument to bring Morgan pleasure, not pain. That he would give comfort and shelter to this man who had stood by him and loved him during a time when he could not love himself. 

Reid raised his body up and slowly reigned kisses down his lover's body, occasionally talking to him, letting him know how and where he would touch him next. He ghosted his hands ever so lightly over Morgan’s chest, stopping once more to rub and tweak the dark-chocolate nipples. Morgan’s breath hitched slightly. Pleased, Reid knew it was a positive response to what he was doing. 

Reid continued the trail of kisses and touches farther down Morgan’s body, stopping when he reached the hollow of Morgan‘s naval. He teased it with his tongue and grinned when Morgan convulsed slightly and made a noise that could only be called a giggle. His lover was ticklish there.. Reid did it again and delighted in the sound Morgan made calling his name and the accompany lessoning of the tension in his body. 

Reid also noted with satisfaction how life was returning to Derek’s organ. The shrunken penis began to twitch, then elongate as the blood gradually returned to engorge it. Reid moved farther down, very slowly, massaging the tight, washboard abs, marveling at the velvet steel anatomy. Farther down his questing fingers found the wiry hairs that adorned his lover’s groin. He was close now. The treasure nestled between Derek’s powerful legs was within reach. 

Gently, he kissed the tip and lightly stroked the heavy testicles. So far so good. Morgan’s body was responding and the small sighs coming from the man signified pleasure. However, when Reid gently wrapped his hand around Morgan's cock, Morgan’s eyes flew open and he could not quite suppress the urge to flinch away. 

“It’s just me, only me, Derek. My hands, my mouth,” Reid urgently assured as the other man tried and failed to hide his renewed distress. A small whimper escaped Morgan’s lips. “Shh…” Reid said. “Let me give you back what he took from you.”

The despairing look in Morgan’s eyes said ‘no, I can’t do this,” however, Reid felt Morgan’s strong hands tighten possessively about his body and draw him closer. The words coming out of the determined set of Morgan’s mouth urgently begged, “Yes, I want you to. Please, Spencer, make this memory go away.” 

“Yes. Yes,” Reid breathed. He would have his lover soothed and reveling in pleasure instead of repulsed from painful memories. Witnessing his lover’s torment in this moment that was set apart for them was intolerable for Reid. For too long he had let Ethan Stewart come between this moment, and he’d be damned if he would allow Carl Buford to do the same. 

Reid lay still atop Morgan’s warm body, allowing for a time, the skin to skin contact, without any other movement, to relax Morgan. He kept up a steady stream of murmurings to Morgan in the language of his love until eventually, Reid felt some of the tension start to ease from the beautiful form beneath him. Encouraged, Reid resumed his kisses and exploration of Morgan’s taut body. He brushed his lips over Morgan’s handsome face, while his hand slowly re-commenced its ministrations to his lover’s organ, stroking and pumping the soft flesh leisurely until Reid was rewarded with a slowly increasing stiffening under his eager fingers. Reid continued to move his hand deftly up and down the sensitive shaft, carefully observing Morgan’s facial expressions the entire time. 

“Does my hand on you feel good, Derek? Do you want me to stop?” Of course he would, without hesitation if Morgan asked him to, but he prayed that he would be allowed to continue pleasuring the man whom he loved. Morgan’s hips bucked as if to protest the very suggestion of stopping and the older man’s voice hitched slightly when he shook his head and gave a half-strangled, ‘no’. 

Smiling encouragingly, Reid expanded the scope of his attentions to explore texture, taste and heaviness of the sack behind Morgan’s hardening shaft. Reid gently caressed the balls with his fingers before his tongue followed the action with licks and sucks to the jewel sack. Reid began to pump Morgan’s cock to full hardness with his hand. Morgan began moaning softly, almost inaudibly in pleasure, the sound of which emboldened Reid. Reaching for the tube of lube on the bedside table, Reid applied a generous amount to his fingers. Then, kneeling on the bed, he positioned himself between Morgan’s splayed legs. 

Noticing Morgan’s wary expression, Reid held up his hand, finger glistening with lube. “Trust me,” Reid pleaded again.

“Do it,” Morgan answered softly, then closed his eyes and arched his head back.

Noting the slight lines of tension upon the strong face, Reid bent over and gently blew a hot breath upon Morgan’s puckered entrance, before sensuously licking in and around and finally into that secret place with his tongue. Reid registered the sound of a small whimper above and knew it to be a sign of Morgan’s pleasure at the sensation. Carefully, Reid inserted his long, slender finger, stroking the silken depths to stimulate Morgan internally. This action too, was met with soft sighs and the strong thigh muscles on either side of him tightened and bunched. Pleased, Reid, with unerring memory of an anatomy diagram seen once as a boy, found and rubbed Morgan’s prostate gland. The resulting reaction was electric for both Morgan and Reid. Morgan’s eyes flew open, wide with pleasure and surprise. That perfect, athletic body beneath Reid writhed sensually. “Oh God, Spencer!” Morgan gasped. Again and again, Reid nudged the pleasure hub within his lover’s body until the tip of Morgan’s erection was straining against his flat belly and fluid weeping from the tip, all the while leisurely alternating rubbing it and his own neglected organ. 

Reid was experiencing a heightened state of arousal like he’d never before experienced. Seeing Morgan’s facial expressions and the beautiful body writhing in ecstasy had sent the amount of his own sexual arousal straight into overdrive. Yet still, he wasn’t done with his desire to lavish Morgan with a gift of sensual pleasure. He withdrew his finger from its exploration of Morgan’s passage to pursue the one sexual act he fervently hoped, given what he suspected Carl Buford had done to Morgan, would drive his lover wild rather than bring the encounter to a screeching halt because of bad memories. Reid used his tongue to lick and taste the pearl-like drops of liquid from the turgid flesh. Morgan’s essence tasted warm and salty in Reid’s mouth and he savored the flavor upon his tongue before opening wide to engulf Morgan’s cock. 

Reid worked the muscles of his mouth and tongue, bobbing his head up and down and swallowing the organ as deep as he could without choking himself. Reid gained confidence that his technique was efficacious when he felt Morgan’s hands upon his head, lightly guiding the bobbing movement up and down. There was no room for fear or loathing in Morgan’s lust-filled eyes and the way the older man’s hips were beginning to buck up and down wildly let Reid know that Morgan was close, so close to orgasming in his busy mouth. 

“Wait!” Morgan moaned aloud in a cry steeped in urgency. With firm hands, Morgan stilled Reid’s bobbing head. “Wait,” Morgan panted again frantically. Instantly, Reid stopped. Had he hurt Morgan? He’d never forgive himself if he had, but when he looked deep into Morgan’s eyes he saw nothing but lust and love projecting from them. “What’s wrong?” Reid asked. Apparently, what Morgan wanted was not to climax in Reid’s mouth. 

“Nothing’s wrong,” Morgan gasped out. “I just don’t want to come from that…not when it means I won’t get to do what I’ve dreamed about and fantacized over doing to you for -” Morgan gasped again when Reid licked him one last time for good measure. 

Reid chuckled lightly. “How do you know I wasn’t setting up an elaborate experiment designed to test your refractory period against the dubious theory of multiple male orgasms? 

Morgan grinned as once again, he flipped them both so that Reid was beneath him as before. Reid gasped when Morgan swooped down and in one graceful motion bent over and deeply kissed him. 

When Morgan’s mouth was available, he answered with a playful grin on his face, “I’m older than you, Kid. I don’t need an experiment to know that I don’t want to waste time waiting around for me to show you how much I love you, and this…” Reid looked to where Morgan was stroking his straining, proud erection and shivered with anticipation, “This is what I want to use to feel you from the inside out,”  
Morgan continued, all signs of carefree boyishness gone. His face was a mask of sensual, hot desire with dark, smoldering eyes as he lifted Reid’s long legs over his broad shoulders. Reid licked his lips, he was no virgin, true, but Morgan was well-endowed - Ethan Stewart’s non-consensual act on him notwithstanding, it had been awhile since he’d had anal sex. On the other hand, Reid was 100% certain that Morgan, who had had plenty of heterosexual intercourse had never analy penetrated a man before. Would he know how to experience his first time without causing an undue amount of pain to his partner?

It wasn’t long before Reid, at long last, had his answer.

Morgan, had carefully prepared Reid by the slow but steady insertion of first one lubed finger, then two and finally, three into Reid’s slickened passage. “Ready, Baby?” Morgan inquired, his voice husky with need. When Morgan was satisfied that the ring of muscle was as relaxed as it could be, he had carefully lined his rock-hard penis up at Reid’s glistening entrance.

Reid gasped softly in pleasure at the feel of his flesh being stretched and the length of Morgan’s member slowly penetrating him and advancing, farther and deeper into his bowels. There was pain and pleasure too as his rectum stretched to accommodate the firm flesh for the first time. He panted and used his hips to urge Morgan forward. 

“You’re so tight, baby. Feels so good,” Morgan crooned when he was fully seated within Reid. 

Reid reveled in the sight and sensation of that powerful, sculpted body, coated with a light sheen of sweat, joined to his. Reid was moaning now. He couldn’t help it. The perfectly muscled body above was bearing down on him until a slight change in the angle of his hips brought Morgan’s cock in touch with Reid’s prostate and Morgan’s heavy sack smacked against his buttocks. Reid was panting open-mouthed with the intense pleasure sparking through his body. Above him, Morgan’s face contorted in ecstasy. Sweat had broken out over the man’s face as Morgan fought to hold himself in steady control. 

“Please, Derek, please,” Reid was begging, for what he did not know exactly for he had been reduced to nothing but live nerves of sexual stimulation and he felt as though his brain had short-circuited. Reid blindly reached for his own erection, but Derek firmly moved his hand away. Apparently, his lover was intent on being the sole instrument of Reid’s pleasure. 

To that end, Reid felt a warm brown hand closed over his cock and began pumping it in time to the steady rhythm set by Morgan’s pounding body. The bed was rocking and the two forms on it were a twinning tangle of black and white sculpted limbs. Eventually, the moans, gasps and grunts grew steadily less rhythmical and more and more frantic in tempo. Reid was being lifted up and carried on a tsunami wave, higher and higher until his body began cresting at the top. “Derek!” Reid’s mouth opened on that cry and he hung high in a pinnacle of ecstasy before he was overtaken by the most powerful climax he had ever experienced. He was lost in a world of pulsating pleasure and only dimly aware of his lover’s continued powerful strokes, in and out of his body as he was plunged down the heights of the giant wave he had ridden to the top. He was gasping, panting and shuddering from the force of his release and still Morgan was moving deeply in him. 

Reid lay in a haze of bliss, unaware of the wet stickiness coating his heaving belly. Then suddenly, Morgan too, froze, and Reid felt the pulsating liquid flooding his passage. Morgan’s guttural groan signaled his deep satisfaction, and he looked completely lost in the throes of his own powerful orgasm. The other man’s breath was coming in and out harshly until eventually, time righted itself for both men and Morgan slowly withdrew before lowering Reid’s limbs to the bed and collapsing bonelessly to the side. Morgan lay next to Reid, breathing hard and with his arm laying across Reid. 

For a time they could do was lay there weakly, smiling blissfully at one another while the fluid and sweat dried on their bodies. Reid was suddenly thrust into outright panic when the eyes in the face lying so close to his, suddenly blinked and brimmed over with hot tears.

Dismayed, Reid scrambled up hastily unto his elbows. “Baby, what’s wrong?” Reid’s mouth wrapped itself around the unaccustomed endearment without a shred of awkwardness to confirm its lack of use. Morgan lay there, eyes closed, unable to speak. Reid rubbed a shapely shoulder until eventually, Morgan wiped his eyes with his hand and turned to face Reid. 

“Did I hurt you?” Reid asked, confused and concerned.

“No, God no,” Morgan said vehemently. Morgan, his face still tear-steaked, leaned over and kissed Reid tenderly upon Reid’s forehead. “It’s just…all those wasted years of trying my best to be the uber heterosexual man, nearly destroying who I really was just to get as far away from what that bastard did to me when I was nothing more than a desperately needy child,” Morgan was looking at Reid with an odd expression of horror and wonder. “I almost missed this! I almost missed us!” Morgan shuddered and Reid gathered the man into his arms and held him close. “I had such feelings for you for the longest time, you know? I was afraid for so long that I would do something to tip you off and at the same time, I despaired that you would never realize that someone who loves you as much as I do was standing right in front of you.” 

Headless of the drying stickiness between their bodies, Reid ran a soothing hand up and down the broad, firm back. Reid closed his eyes and murmured, “Thomas Harding once said, ‘Sometimes I shrink from your knowing what I have felt for you, and sometimes I am distressed that all of it you will never know’. Derek, if you ever felt like that, you don’t have to feel that way anymore. I’m here - for all of you, and all of me is yours.” The lovers locked eyes, each one reading the strength of a heart committed and freely given. 

“Thank you,” Morgan said, and then they sealed their understanding with a deep kiss. Time passed for the lovers held in each other’s embrace until eventually, Morgan groaned and got up to grab a damp washcloth. He cleansed himself with the warm cloth, then proceeded to gently clean Reid, frowning worriedly as he wiped the tender area of Reid’s still dilated anus. Reid sighed blissfully at the contact of the warm, wet cloth to his tender opening. “I love you so much, Derek Morgan.” 

Morgan was looking at Reid with an expression of intense devotion. “I love you, Spencer Reid." He smiled a smile, brighter than the sun. "You know what we should do?”

“What?” 

“Let’s go away somewhere, just the two of us. Me and my Boo, and no dog gone cellphones.”

Reid smiled at that. Yeah, that sounded right. Let the world continue spinning while he and his love got off the merry-go-round for a little while. But where? Hawaii? Tahiti? His fertile mind was instantly filled with images of them on a deserted beach, naked and making love in the sand. “Where do you want to go?” he finally asked.

Morgan sighed, “Anywhere but New Orleans.”

 

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus at long last, this ends the tale of “This Side of New Orleans”! Since this story has been around for years, I have thought to write a last note for both myself and my readers in the form of a mock interview to say farewell. Here we go:
> 
> Q: When did you start writing, “This Side of New Orleans”?  
> A: The story was started in 2007. 
> 
> Q: Was this your first CM fic?  
> A: Ironically enough, it was not my first attempt at writing a Criminal Minds story. Prior to 2007, I started writing a post L.D.S.K slash story featuring Morgan and Reid. At that time, Morgan and Reid were not being commonly paired at all. I didn't write more than one chapter before I realized that was not the story I was supposed to be telling. At that point, I didn’t think I was supposed to be writing ANY CM story at all! Boy was I surprised when, out of the blue, the character of Ethan Stewart started talking to me, followed by Reid and Morgan. 
> 
> Q: How many betas have you had?  
> A: This story has been touched and made better by more than a few betas. None remain in the fandom today. Still, I want to thank Nancy Taylor, Twilight, and Vanessa S. Quest. The chapters towards the end of the story are self-edited and probably have egregious mistakes.
> 
> Q: How many readers have you had?  
> A: Well, you can only image that very few readers who started this story in 2007 are in the fandom today to read the conclusion. Readership comes and goes, but lots of folks have enjoyed the story over the years and come back, some not, and some new ones have joined. I appreciate each and every reader and very much treasure the comments and kudos left over the years.
> 
> Q: So….speaking of years- why so long to finish a story??  
> A: That’s a fair question. What I can honestly answer is that 1) I’m primarily a reader of fanfic, not an author. I know how frustrating it is to find a good story that’s been abandoned. Knowing that writing is difficult for me, I made sure to be upfront with readers about the fact that I write slowly. Regretfully , I never imagined it would actually take years. 
> 
> Q: Did you do a lot of research for the story?  
> A: I did a fair amount. All of the cases in the story have their bases in real world cases. Everything concerning HIV and visit to the Elizabeth Taylor Clinic at Whitman-Walker was researched. 
> 
> Q: What makes you happy about this story?  
> A: I’m very happy to have kept my word to not abandon this story. I always believed I would finish it and I did. I’m sad to not have it to look forward to writing as it has served as something to look forward to in some rather unpleasant, difficult personal times. 
> 
> Q: Do you have anything else for the CM fandom?  
> A: I hope to do one final illo for this story. After that, I don’t think so.
> 
>  
> 
> Q: What are your writing plans next?  
> A: I plan to devote my attention to finishing my other WIP fic: The Misplaced Agent Affair.
> 
> http://romanseartfanfic.com  
> http://romanse1.livejournal.com


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